where unpleasant words go when they die



oh how i miss thee,sweet rant..........

well,i think i haven't been doing justice to the rant-loving sections of my audience these last few weeks.......so here goes.

oh bugger.
exam time.
not studying,even when sometimes i really want to.
wasting time.
(innumerable exam-time cliches follow.........)

but......
ye olde,devilishly inevitable  but.......
something new is happening......
feels good.
probably up to no good(quite obvious,after that last line)
~dont know where this this here train's goin,but i sure hope it aint a trainwreck..........~

also.....
parents took away the fancy wifi-enabled n79........
back to me ole trusty ngage qd....
fer these coupla weeks,anyway.....
the good side is,im gettin ta lisn ta a lot of the music that i usdta lisn to a coupla years ago,now that im havin ta use the stereo fer music again.....

anyhoo......
im gna gt back ta tryna study.....
wish me luck,people..
heaven knows,im gunna need it.



ciao

the man behind the mask

everyone has a mask.
everyone.

its who we are,when we know someones watching(even when said watcher is but a figment of our imagination/ego/dementia).or even when we try to be cautious of how others react to our presence/behavior/antics.

its quite simple really.

whatever we do under said circumstances,quite frankly,just isnt us.
what we do as a group,says nothing,absolutely nothing, about who we each are.
if someone was watching when,to us,no-one was watching(even that little voice in your head didnt know),theyd have us figured out.
theyd know everything.
theyd play us around like a little bug,making us squirm all we can,even when we all know the end is coming.

dont bother.
ever.

shine that light back at the maggot, and hear its skin crackle under its 100W beam.
i know you cant manage to do that to one person the whole time.
we all know no-one can.
no-one but the man upstairs.

so do it to everyone.
paint a little tarnish,a faint brown patina on every other little critter.
savour that faint,sooty smell of dry roasting.

i know you cant sit back and admire your handiwork,you gotta keep up the work.
or youll fail.
youll give someone else that chance to fry you.

and you will burn,and with that,youll realise,that you arent much different from any other maggot.

or you can persevere,give up your own life,your very self,in the conundrum that you are,your "quest for survival".


and after a while youll notice.
cliche-"everything is an illusion"
yes, dearest retard.
weve all heard that one.
but the rabbit hole goes deeper,still.

ive already put you through these many lines of drivel,so i dont think youd mind a few more.
i promise itll end soon.

when you see through the mask,you see beyond the face,beneath the skin.
you see inside the man.
the mask is his desires,fears,aspirations,thoughts,his lifes work, his very own matrix.
the mask is his wall.

think of it this way. 
the mask is just a colour negative.
just as simple as that.

youve just gotta take every little pixel,and flip it the right way round.
just takes a little elbow grease,is all.

oh cmon.
dont throw that half-arsed look at me,i havent done any of this crap.
i just give out the instructions around here,mate.


now sod off.



~distantly calls~

ciao

five

The world of scientific experimentation is like an iceberg.
What we see or hear about is but a fraction of what actually goes on under the radar.
This is the story of one such experiment.


In the professor's laboratory,tucked away from the world,and its regulations and red tape,five human embryos,taken from five races,five continents, lay ready to be "tweaked".
A synthetic chromosome,the culmination of decades of his research,was to be implanted in their DNA.
Its function,was to make its host be able to "read" the thoughts of those,in its presence.

Once the implant was complete,the embryos were sent to surrogate parents on five continents,who were to nurture them till birth,and beyond.
Their role,however, did not cease there.
They would monitor every aspect of the child's life,and relay the data back to the professor at regular intervals.

Five children,completely different in their upbringing and circumstances,but alike in one aspect.
The chromosome,and the unique ability it had given rise to,in each of them.

The original intent of the experiment,was to create alpha-humans,or superhumans,by giving them one unique ability,using which they were expected to rise above all their peers.

However,the outcome was not quite what the professor had expected.

Each of them had taken their own life,and not one had lived to reach adulthood.





Ponder awhile.
Write back if you like.


Ciao.

Faust

I'm in yer guitar strings,
and inside yer blues.
Restin' on yer pillow,
and walkin' in yer shoes.

Met you,at a crossroads,
black,as an inkblot.
Don't worry,my son,I'll have ye,
well afore ye rot.

I cut ye yer slack,
gave ye free reign.
Don't you go forget me now,
for meet,we shall again.


Someday, you shall all be mine,
just yerselves ta blame.
For my name is Mephistopheles,
and Faust, 'tis my game.



ciao

nadir

this post,i dedicate to every girl whom ive ever thought i had a chance with...

I was born a bastard.
A couple of years later, i became an orphan too.
I lived alone,in the slum,my ten square feet of rusty tin and corrugated iron,where laid whatever little proof that i even existed.
Id made it to fourteen like countless others,by living off the crumbs of someone else's plates,their joys, their beliefs, their lives.
Every day, i would go to the old lady's house,stopping by at the temple,not to pray,but to survive,on the remains of yesterdays prasad,that they gave away.
I could not steal,or fight to feed myself,for i was weak,simply too weak.
She taught me, out of pity,and out of love,for the son she had lost years ago.
It took me hours,even days, to learn what most learn before they turn five.
It was only through her reassurance and conviction,that i learnt,how to read,how to write,how to live.
I left her house,and treaded along a familiar path,headed to the playground.
I sat lamely at the boundary,watching the boys fight over a disputed wicket.
It was then, that i saw her.
Looking out of the window,not much older than eighteen,watching the match with brown,deep brown eyes.
Just then,the ball came by me.
They called to me,to throw them the ball.
As the child in me took charge,the notebook fell from my hand,which instead picked up the grubby sphere and let fly,with what seemed a colossal effort.
I tried,i really did.
Yet it fell,not so far away.
Laughter ensued.
I was only too used to it,and had long ago,put up walls of stone,to block out the laughter,to block out the hurt.
It worked,but,somewhere,somewhere deep inside,was a little wound,still bleeding,still burning.
Hurt,i turned my eyes away from the ruffians,muttering curses,when my eyes met hers.
She smiled.
I dont know what happened,but i felt something well up inside me.
Some part of me knew,that like the old lady,it was but pity that made her smile.
But still,i found myself thinking there was more,more reason,more meaning,more something,more anything,behind that smile.
All i wanted,even for but a moment,was to rise from my nadir,and float up,up into her balcony,into her life.



Then it all blacked out,as the ball rapped against my temple.



"SIX!" screamed the batting team,and danced joyously onto the ground.



I woke up,dazed,my head throbbing.
I looked around at the victory celebrations.
Then i looked up at her balcony,and saw her celebrating too.



It hurt.
It hurt more than my swelling head.
It hurt more than the crippled ego of this cripple.


It still hurts when i think about it.Not a lot,but not a little either.


---------------------------------------------
P.s.-i hate writing emotionally-charged pieces
-nadir means the lowest point

Ciao

things that are underrated(grossly,more often than not)

1.not posting on your blog for a very long time.
2.not making any sense at all(context may/may not matter here,its upto you)
3.webcomics -examples follow- XKCD , OGLAF(NSFW,but funny as hell), THEDEVILSPANTIES(SFW) AND QUESTIONABLECONTENT
dont just go on their names and write em off(exactly what this post is against)
4.swearing in class as a background noise(usually incessantly,and directed at absolutely anyone).
5.not knowing how many people read this shite.
6.exam-time activiies(when IN the exam room),such as playing table-drums,pretend-shooting at people,and chuckling happily to oneself.
7.listing down shite that you do under such crappy titles on your blog.
8.staying up late(to the point of turning nocturnal)
9.writing in CAPS(not all the goddamn time,though)

P.S.my dear absymal audience,during my absence,nothing interesting EVER happened,and yours truly was not shaken from his perch of eternal boredom and damnation(even if you were unaware of its existence)
ciao

after a good couple of weeks,hello...

ive bin called a lot of things,but a happy camper,thats one of those that i dont acknowledge...
Ive smiled and ive laughed,both in truth and lie,sometimes to invoke,sometimes just at thoughts in that lake between my ears.
Theres always something to be disgruntled about.
Why not?the past and the future are always visualised cesspools,and theres no tellin whats to be under your boot the next step,a steaming-fresh cowpat or a silver dollar.
Id like ta say ive seen both(and ermm,avoided one),and that every cesspool has a silver lining,but once again,im opposing myself.
If a choice were to be made between optimism and realism,what would one choose?rather,how would one comment(i would much rather criticise) on anothers choice?'he who chooseth optimism is but a dreamy hippie bed-of-roses peacefreak' OR 'he who chooseth realism is the purest specimen of a pessimist/cynic for whom life is meaningless'
at this point in time,having forgotten the actual logical theme of this post,i wil now proceed to insert a random thought,so here goes-
"i wish D-O-I-N-G was pronounced DOINNG! (like a huge inflatable ball bouncing right in front of you)"
adds a litle more spice to the day,dontcha think?

Reading-various books about the dhofar insurgency in the 70s


ciao

words of the week:edition 6

angsty
lame
overjoyed
negative
eager

ciao

want someone to want to talk to me

read the title...it seems like such a loser-ish statement...i dnt knw if you see me as a loser...i dnt knw if you should see me as one...i dnt evn knw how many 'yous' exist...
But yeah,to want human contact is a basic pillar of human nature...
Im bein a dick to try and justify myself here...i dn evn knw if i wana justify myself here...sometimes i feel like i dont really need anyone apart frm family,at all...really...even romance/play seems unimportant...i think that my present station in life is sustainable,without any need for anyone apart from my immediate family(sometimes even they dnt seem that important)...i luk at myself,and think'maybe i can be the perfect,lone stranger'..,no need for anything more than mere acquaintance,and the joys of living my thoroughly simple and uncluttered life,unbothered by peer pressure,social conformity,and the need to put up with others' bullshit...best of all,nt being judged,and feeling judged...a life of ease by belief in minimalism...

And it feels nice.


Ciao

damn you blogspot.

i was doin an awesome,heart-wrenching poem.
and just as i finished,,blogspot decided to delete all my autodrafts,and simultaneously sign me out.
i loved that bit of my heart that i had poured out onto this speck of the internet.
maybe there is a conspiracy in the works at google,against me.

maybe its all for the better.

ciao


words of the week:edition 5

well,after goin thru tons of hatemail for missin a week,herez what i could muster up

nubile
impudent
nefarious
nemesis
yeeehaw


ciao

as ironic as it may sound........

hello again,my absymal audience.
My end-of-year exams just got over...i had a party afterwardz...no drinks...got home late...every kids idea of a perfect post-exam day...

(*here cometh the infernal BUT*)
But.
It all js seems very boring and unfocused.Very very boring.
One day ur focused(or not) at achieving something(fr me,it was marks) and the next day youve made a decision to achieve for urself an absolute,pure dose of nothing.
Where do you think one would feel better,or more meaningful(i just wish i could demarcate GOOD and BAD here)?
I dont really know about the rest of you guys,but i chose the first.


Ciao

words of the week:edition 4

boring
overt
obsessive
zeitgeist
escape


ciao

human nature

Everyone is a hypocrite.Some to greater lengths,some to lesser.Some in shadows,some out in the open.Everyone lies.Everyone cheats.Everyone discriminates.Its just a question of how,and of how well you look at it.
And we acknowledge this fact,and also choose to ignore as and when we like.We revere those as Mother Teresa and Jesus Christ for their unending love and affection and lack of a bad side.But,we place them,and have placed such above ourselves,above humans.

I forgive people for being so.
(forgive me for takin the high and mighty point of view here)
And forgive me if this is biased.

Im only human.

Ciao.

words of the week.edition 3

evil
xylene
asswipe
magnanimous
serene

ciao.

she sparkes,and she sings

she beckons me
to her,to leave my confines
to breathe deep,
take in her earthy perfume

she who awaits me,
so pure,
yet complete.

Se caresses me,
my hair,my body
so tender,yet lush

she offers me
all that she has
i accept,and savour
her touch,her feel

and yet i cry,for
i have none to offer
much less be accepted

i think,i ponder
our love imperfect,
so short,yet lasting

as i savour,our
every moment,i
do fear that instant apart

i do give my heart,
to my love,my solace,
the rain.



ciao

dan brown,get a life.

i wasted a day today.
i should have spent it doin chem prep for my exam in 2 days,but instead,i spent it reading "The Lost Symbol" cover to cover.
Previously,i have read angels and demons cover to cover,and skimmed through his others(just SKIMMED for good reason)
So,i thought that maybe he finally wrote something new,something to justify the hype.
I was let down,majorly.
it was his style of writing:
1.one fag(langdon)
2.one woman
3.one mentor
4.one assassin(usually a sadist;may also have another independent villain ordering him around)
5.one cult(usually about science and/or religion)
6.one terribly shocking fact(to be revealed)
7.about one day to save the world as we know it
8.one terribly boring monologue about god and man(finally revealed)
His writing is rich and inviting,full of new,shady facts and myth.But COME ON!!!!its the same bloody story,over and over again!!and langdon NEVER gets to kiss the girl(portrayed to be very attractive)........what kind of shitty novel is THAT!!!

what he should do for the sake of the world economic conditions is bring out an condensed omnibus of sorts,with a different variable for each of the points above in a generic storyline,and the specifics of each scenario listed out like formulae in a vast glossary.....

it would be cheaper,and more than comparable to the originals.

@brown:go do something for all those devoted readers or yours who needlessly create megatons of hype each time you publish that same picture seen through diferent colored tinted glasses.

ciao

words of the week.edition 2

clear
ogle
concentrate
kill
sleep
sorry,im 2 days late.
Parents had taken my n79 away.

a champi,scent of a woman,and exams.

well,here we are.
Exams in 4 days.
Chem first.
Spent a whole lotta time on not studying.
Watchd many,many movies.
The only one that really stuck was Scent Of A Woman.
The story revolves around 2 characters,Charlie Simms(michael o'donnell),a young harvard hopeful,and Lt.Col.Frank Slade(al pacino),a blind,eccentric black humorist who has found a life partner in jack daniels.
This movie of how these two strangers meet,and change each other over the course of a thanksgiving weekend, left me in plain awe of pacino's portrayal of slade,and i feel that this was one fully deserved oscar for al pacino.
Well,ive decided to try to get myself to study finally.
And im 17 in less than two weeks.
So ciao.
HAH!

well,the times,they are a-changin...

finishd my last practicals,and had my last few hours at school as a 11th-grader...
Exams in 10 days.Not a very pretty thought,especially with chem up first,but neither something i can ignore.
Ask yourself:how many times have you given your papers with the thought that your lives will be shaped by their outcome??
So i guess its time ta get a little serious about stuff.
*wipes tears
haha
ciao

words of the week.edition 1

haha.
Startin frm now,i will post up 5 words once every week like so.these may be related to my week,or be completely random.its my take on microblogging.
Here we go.
Hyperactive.
Sequence.
Trampoline.
Confused.
Wigidiboo.

Haha.
Do you guys really care?

dirt

captain magnus eriksson.king of the skies.
Thats what they would have called him.
If only they knew.
World war two had been fun.
Hed flown in europe for all three powers,the yanks,the british,and the krauts,blown through the ranks of each at different times,under different aliases.
He had no problems with language.
He was born a total orphan,with a silver spoon in his mouth.
Imperial,extensive schooling had made him a man,an inherited collection of airplanes and a flying manual had made him a man of the sky.
He felt no love for any being.
He lived for the thrill of flight.
Killing was an acquired taste for him.
But it never left him either.
There was no safe way to fly in a civilian airplane those days,and he gave up plainclothes for his one true love,albeit after nearly being shot down once before.
He was a natural pilot.,out of years of exercise,but he had been combat-trained by the best of the RAF,the luftwaffe,and the USAF.
He had flown all their best birds,and had stolen his favourite three-the messerschmidt,the hellcat,and the spitfire.
After the war,he forged an amalgam of the three.
An indominitable machine,with all their strengths,but flying this beast was something only he mastered at a great price.
But it paid off.
The only thing was that no one knew.
Rather no one alive knew.
He had shot down over three hundred craft in a hundred and six sorties,all in the years of the war.
Novice or ace,soon all were just burning wrecks in the sky.
But the bloodlust remained even after the truce.
In his beast,he shot down every aircraft that dared to fly in european skies.
He was unknown to all,except for those he shot down.
He always passed by them as they tumbled.
He looked into their eyes as they went down.
He tried to understand people by the emotion they showed in their terminal moments.
After the first hundred,he decided he was nt much of a people person.
April 12,1956
Flying above the alps,he looked far and wide,but the skies were clear.
He had cleared them.
It had been three weeks since his last kill.
It had been easy.
A light plane.
No more dogfights.
No more breakneck spirals with guns blazing.
Only novices with civilian planes these days.
He tried to make them squirm to get away,to get some little kick out of his day.
These kids always let him down.
No wonder,as hed already shot down any instructor skilled enough to take off.
There was no sport here.
No thrill,no pleasure,and goddammit no kill!!
No one else.Nothing.
The realisation hit him hard.
He planted himself in a forty-five degree dive,switched off the engine,and for the first time,felt pure silence.
He was deaf.
His love for it grew uncontrollably as he passed 30,000 feet.
He didnt want anything more.
Didnt need anything at 5,000 feet either.
Neither at a thousand.
Nor at 15.
The end.

rain day

rain in muscat is a much-loved,much-needed break,but sometimes life just jumps too far off its rails...
Haha
startd rainin in recess.first thought was of football,but thanks to teachers,that little joy could not be availed.
So we came in droves,and simply stood in the rain,mouthing curses at teachers,and runnin about,lookin at gals with open,wet(and kinda sexy)hair,and getting gloriously wet,as the school field turned once again,to a rectangular patch of muck...
In the last 3 periods,i had some crappy,crappy times, stuck a HELP ME sign at the window right behind my place in class,in the hope that someone,anyone would get me outta the drab,drab classroom,and into the rain...but sadly,to no effect...
After school,the rain let up,and the sun shone through...searched for a rainbow,but found nothing.
Decided to try and bunk tuitions,and called kamu from a payphone sayin that i wouldnt make it...then ran to check if my bus had left,only to find that all the senior students of my bus were stranded too...went to a friends place,and rang up mom.she said she mite not be able to pick me up,as the traffic was very very shitty,and said that it would be a good idea to stay at a friends place nearby,and then go to tuitions directly,to which i agreed...walked back to school to find someone to hang with,and got a burger...a friend asked me to come watch some friends at dance practice at the social club(right next to school)...so i watched them hang about and do their thing till about 3:30,when i left for tuitions.
Reached kamus place by cab,went inside her house,and she tells me that tuitions had been canceled at the last moment.
So there.i catch a cab back to school,and play football\rugby on a basketball court with a tennis ball in the rain,and call up dad and ask him to pick me up from school.i spend the next twenty minutes talkin to a friend.and reach some very shitty conclusions.
Dad arrives.i get in the car,and listen to a bullshit story my driver gave to my dad as an explanation for my failure to get home on time.
Reach home,make myself masala chai,drank it with choc chip cookies,and now here i am,soakin in the hot tub,typin out this memoir on my phone...

look to your left,and look to your right

7 am
kid walkin to school.walks up to the road right opposite the front gate,and stops,narrowly missing a birdshit.then he thought about how he woulda been the laughingstock of his social circle,had he been.he thought of how that girl in class he thought was hot wouldnt dare to go near him,disgusted.he thought of how porn was better than real life,of how the hottie on screen seemed less hostile than the one in real life,and easier to see naked too.he thought of running back home to get a change,but glanced at his watch,and decided to cross the road and take his chances at a normal day at school,albeit with a stained shirt.
And then there was a bus.

LADY GAGA CANT SING FOR PEANUTS(pokerface,specifically)

before reading this,please listen to
http://www.filestube.com/0c61aeb6af3b09ea03e9,g/Lady-Gaga-Poker-face.html
.........its cartman covering the song poker face........
dont worry,you can sue me for a million bucks if you get some sort of virus that wipes out all your stuff in a minute and a half.........

Cartman performs the song in his own voice,far superior to gagas technologically-enhanced male moan...it makes more sense and is easier to decrypt than gagas shitty,boring gas-discharge...
The bottom line-Pop is overrated,by far...south park rules!
Listnin to ledzep-ten years gone

wierd msn fonts

i love using funky/quirky fonts on msn..........not the all out wacko wingdings/webdings shite,but something that js isnt so monotonous............
the only problem is half the tym ppl cant gt wtf im typin
e.g.- scruff LET(current)
OldDreadfulNo7 BT
jokerman LET
westwood LET
curlz MT
goudy stout

and the deal is that these arent usable on blogger.........but why????
and to any of my msn contacts,whom i am sure outnumber the readers of my blogz ten to one,please do tolerate.................and give em a try

hola

heylo,my absymal audience....
After about a year of my old account being seemingly killed by google,i return to the blogosphere,with gusto...
~fake laugh~
for that portion of my overly large audience who dnt knw,my old outlet for teen angst,boredom and sexual frustration was located at
www.whyexactlydidichoosethistemplate.blogspot.com

til the nx tym,
ciao