Film as Meditation

Jack and Jim

Lullaby

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Jack shot God

hahaha..
That
is
funny.
Jack shot God!!

But why-oh-why?

An Eternity and a Day

 

'how long does tomorrow last?'.

'an eternity and a day.
an eternity and a day.....'

IsIs

 

Chinnan Chiru

Moon River

WTF?!

Well, fuk you Pinker. This one is fukin brilliant.
http://www.tnr.com/politics/story.html?id=246c0071-a9cd-46e2-a665-c6e61a45377e

*-*-*

I usually like this integral, cross-dimensional, cog-sci approach. some have really mastered the art of writing this way. Nithya Chaitanya Yathi. Douglas Hofstadter, Steven Pinker. And then, Ken Wilber.Especially, I love Ken. Still Hunting for his 'Sex, Ecology, Spirituality'.

But sometimes, this whole integral, 'sensin-order-out-of-chaos' stuff tires me out.Abstractions over abstractions.demystifying the patterns and tryin hard to be all-encompassing. Overt generalizations to get that 'up from Eden' view et all. i switch over to much simpler books. Ramanar. Or Arthur Osborne's 'My Life'.

Then, I realize, these are two ways of looking at the same thing..like two arrows, taking radically different paths, and yet moving towards the same point in the dashboard. Like the real story of Madhavan Nair and Achutan Nair.

You could find Madhavan Nair in that famous toddy shop in Mahe. He is in his 60s, and is renowned for his jocular nature. From the outside, he looks like any other keralite. u speak to him for 5 mins, and u would be able to feel his vibrant personna. his experience is vast and he could talk abt any arbit thing..from those little papers which the japanese tie in those serene monastries, with some wonderful haikus written on them to the food habits of indonesian soildiers durin the world war. Like any other Keralite,he is a wanderlust and has this thing for travel.. When he was 18, he ran away from home and joined the Indian Army. went to japan. got caught as a POW. escaped from there. fell in love with a japanese girl. married her. and loved her like mad. But, she died suddenly and he was on the verge of depression. thn, he started taking weed. became an alcholic for some time. then, came out of it. went and joined the crew of a ship. travelled all arnd the globe. to baltimore..to thailand.. to cape town. had numerous lovers and girl friends and lots of other blah relationship inbetween. then, once, in cuba, he met Che. and became a communist. joined their ranks. went to africa. was involved in the congo guerilla warfare. then, he was arrested by KGB in bulgaria for some internal issues within the communist. a german officer helped him and he escaped from there. went to france. stayed there for some time. learnt some painting. then, again the KGB was after him. ran away. went to america. started a business.. went on a big loss.. then, from there he went to canada. and finally, came back empty handed to Mahe at the age of 58, after almost 40 years of his nomadic existence. he wanted to die there.. in Mahe, after his extremely eventful life.

And then, there is his twin bro - Achutan Nair. His parents never let him out of Mahe, since his elder bro fled away. did his schooling, college in Mahe. got a job as a teacher in the same town. got married to a gurl in Mahe..had kids.. but he never ever went out anywhere else except on a singular occassion to Guruvaayur for his gradnson's religious ceremony.. he too, is awaiting death... after his tranquil and serene life.

Two arrows. Different paths. And yet, finally, meeting at that Singular point in the dashboard.. maybe, that is when wherein we feel that whatever we considered ',meaningful' and 'great' till then look 'ordinary' and also, at the same time, we realize the there is nothing 'ordinary' or 'meaningless' about anything at all..

Well, I don't know if this is a true story. I read it in a book by Jeyamohan. But I like to believe in the story.

Now reading 'Dibs in Search of Self' by Virginia Axline and 'The One-Straw Revolution' by Masanobu Fukuoka. Sometimes, I feel Reading forms the very core of my otherwise-banal *existence*. Take that away from me and am not sure what else would be left behind.

Hah!

According to the "Which Big Lebowski character are you?" quiz:

Why don't you check it out? Or we cut off your Johnson!

Meursault tries to cry..

Consigned to Flames of Woe

Mozart: "Flammis Acribus Adictis." How would you translate that?
Salieri: Consigned to flames of woe.
Mozart: Do you believe in it?
Salieri: What?
Mozart: A fire which never dies, burning you forever?
Salieri: Oh... yes.

There is this wonderful song from a mid-80s film called 'Sangeetha Megham'. Music composed by Ilayaraja. And that particular song was picturized so horribly, with Mike Mohan at his very best... orchestrating his antics... shaking his head .. jumping and kneeling and somersaulting on the stage etc..

Well, that apart, when you close your eyes and listen to the song again.. the brilliant prelude.. the wonderful interludes takes you to a different world, much away from the drudgeries of everyday life. The music was composed when Raja was at his peak.. almost everything he composed became runaway hits.. his popularity skyrocketed on every subsequent hits and producers were queuing up to somehow get him compose the music for their forthcoming films.. And around the same period of time marked the commencement of Ilayaraja's spiritual search. This brief epoch marked the transition from the person who composed Communist propaganda songs to the person who composed 'Thiruvasagam'.

The lyrics of this particular song was in some way, a tribute to the man himself.. Bordering on narcism but at the same time addressing the quest and longing every artist has to see their works surpass and outlive themselves.. and thereby, become eternal.

"pogum pathai dhooramaevaazum kaalam konjamaejeeva sugam peraraaga nadiyinil nee neendhanva Indha thegam maraidhalum Isayai Malarven Indha thegam maraindhalum Isayai Malarven".....

"Ullam ennum oorilaePaadal ennum therilaeNaalum KanavugalRaaja pavanigal pooginradhaeEndhan Moochum Indha Paatum Annaya VilakkaeEndhan Moochum Indha PaatumAnnaya Vilakkae"

Watching Amadeus reminded me of this song(and the man behind the song) all over again and the universality of such themes.

Peter Shaffer, BoardWalkers, Rain et all

My first taste with any of Peter Shaffer's plays started with the Indianized version of 'Black Comedy' by Boardwalkers (Directed by Michael Muthu). A breezy, hilarious work was cleverly improvised by Boardwalkers to fit into the Indian context very well. The German Philosopher-cum-electrician on the original play became Santhanam - a Tam philosopher/electrician working in Mumbai Metropolitan Electricity board. References to Hamlet in the original play became Mahabharath (or rather, 'Magaabaradham' as uttered by Santhanam :-))). Add to this, wonderful acting by Karthik Srinivasan as Santhanam. I thoroughly enjoyed the play and I started thinking of Peter Shaffer as the Britain's answer to Crazy Mohan ;) [Well, why is it that we Indians should do all the answering all the time? Sanjay Leela Bansali i s India's answer to Kieslowski... - Dhoni - India's answer to Gilchrist.. Kokki Kumar is Royapuram's answer to Al Capone.. blah blahhh ... Whom are you answering to? And Who is asking these questions in the firstfukinplace? Well, what the fuk? I am digressing. You talkin to me?]Okay.

Then, during last year’s Theatre fest, I bought the ticket for another Peter Shaffer's play.. again by Boardwalkers.. It was a working day for me and the play starts at 7 in the evening. I pulled out all the tricks I had in the bag and managed to leave office by 5:30. And then, it stated raining like hell. Driving continuously, I somehow made it by 7. I was thoroughly drenched. The organizers even refused to let me in if i dint drain myself ;). Add to this, I was sitting right in front of the air conditioner. The play started. And for the next three hours, I was continuously getting goosebumps every fuckin five minutes. Is it because of the play or is it because of the good acting or is it because of the elevated music or is it because of the effect of air conditioner on my thoroughly drenced dress... I am yet to figure out :-) Well...

Apollo and Dionysus - The archetypical conflict

“There is in me a continuous tension between what I suppose I could call the Apollonian and the Dionysian sides of interpreting life. … It immediately begins to sound high falutin’, when one talks about it oneself—I don’t really see it in those dry intellectual terms. I just feel in myself that there is a constant debate going on between the violence of instinct on the one hand and the desire in my mind for order and restraint. “

– Peter Shaffer

Amadeus deals with some profound themes and asks lots of difficult & disturbing questions. On one level, it is a semi-fictional account on the life & works of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, as narrated by his contemporary- Antonio Salieri , the court composer to the emperor of Vienna. On another level, it assays to understand the eternal mystery behind the genius. It could also be seen as the archetypical antagonism behind the individual personnas of Mozart and Salieri and attempts to demystify them. It probes into the sphere of psychology, sociology, musicology, theology et all but at the same time maintains the subtlety needed to create an aesthetic experience. These elements are richly textured into every act, scene, dialogue, monologue, speech and music throughout the entire duration of the play. but it never whoringly tries to grab the attention and give the viewers a delusion that it is an ‘intellectual play’.

Peter Shaffer was inspired by Pushkin's verse drama called ‘Mozart and Salieri’, which for the first time drew a parallel to the contrasts inherent between their personalities with the archetypal conflict between the Apollonian and Dionysian forces. Nietzsche mentions about the duality of these forces in his 'The Birth of Tragedy'. He even goes on to describe that the progress of art depends on the pulls between these forces.

Apollonian and Dionysian forces are similar to the Taijitu or the Yin-Yang of the Chinese Culture.. Remotely linked to Hegelian Dialectics and the 'thesis -antithesis -synthesis' triad, to the Freudian id-ego-superego tripartite, to the Jungian 'Anima/Animus' archetype .. connected to the post-modern Derrida's theory of 'Window/Frame' and also kinda connected to 'Dvaitham' of Vedanta.

Simply put, Dionysian forces are about 'letting go. breaking out', moving beyond the patterns and the conditioning of the mind. Apollonian forces are about 'being in control'. about logic and reasoning. Both are these are essential and one loses its meaning without the other. And Amadeus is all about the conflict between these opposing forces, both between and within the individual characters.

The conflict between Mozart and Salieri represents the Apollonian/Dionysian conflict between individuals. And yet, the same struggle is undergone within an individual as well. Each one of us has within us both of these character traits, but one of these would be predominant and would super cede and suppress the other. For Salieri, it is the Apollo which dominates. It urges him to be prim and proper, to be in control and drives him towards social acceptance. Whereas, it suppresses his Dionysian urge to breakout and Sing to God, in the absolute fullness of his naked existence. For Mozart, the Dionysian forces dominate which enables him to compose divine music but tumbles away the Apollonian reason and fails to gain social acceptance. Dionysian forces also make him instinctual and boorish.


The God that Mocks

Salieri: They say God is not mocked. I tell You, Man is not mocked! … I am not mocked!…They say the spirit bloweth where it listeth: I tell You no! It must list to virtue or not blow at all! Dio ingiusto—You are the enemy! I name Thee now—Nemico Eterno! And this I swear: to my last breath I shall block You on earth, as far as I am able! What use, after all, is Man, if not to teach God His lessons?

- Amadeus, Act I, Scene 12

Peter Shaffer also examines the psychological / psychoanalytical components behind the dynamism of their motives and actions. Salieri is controlled by the superego, which urges him to be on control, whereas Mozart represents the id in its purest form. But during the later part of Mozart's life, the superego takes form as his father and haunts him for the rest of his life.

Salieri's weakness to sweets compensates for his poor sex life. As he admits, 'My invention in love, as in art has been limited'. Mozart, on the other hand, is shown as a childish, fart-obsessed, anal fixated philanderer. These characteristics gets reflected in their music as well. And the burning tension arising out of this is brought out very well in the play. Mozart comments that Salieri's music is like ‘dried dogshit’ and looked like the ‘music of the man who can't cum out', . While Salieri wonders on how such an ill-mannered, vulgar kid possess such incredible musical gift.

Salieri's music might not be genuine and soul-stirring but his Apollonian reason enables him to instantly recognize and appreciate divine music from the ordinary. He was the one of the first to recognize the genius behind Mozart's music.

"The beginning simple, almost comic –- just a pulse –- bassoons and basset horns –- like a rusty squeezebox ...Then suddenly –- high above it –- an oboe –- a single note – - hanging there unwavering –- till a clarinet took over and sweetened it into a phrase of such delight...., The God I acknowledge lives,for example, in bars 34 to 44 of Mozart’s Masonic Funeral Music "

This contrast remains universal and it is also reflected in Somerset Maugham's "Moon and Sixpence" . There is this character, a Dutch Painter named Dick Stroeve, a wonderful critic of art & paintings, has the gift of instantly recognizing the genuine works from the ordinary. He was the first to acknowledge the genius in Charles Strickland. But his own works lacked the originality which he found in Strickland’s The generosity and kindness Stroeve showers over Strickland, which helped Strickland recover from his life threatening conditions, was reciprocated with Stroeve’s wife running away with Strickland.

Thus, incomprehensibility behind such acts leaves the Stroeves and Salieris eternally perplexed. They feel as if they are getting mocked by God himself, which leads them either towards extreme self-pity or towards an all-out vendetta.


The Eternal Mystery behind the Genius

[...] my life acquired a terrible and thrilling purpose. The blocking of God in one of his purest manifestations. I had the power. God needed Mozart to let himself into the world. And Mozart needed me to get him worldly advancement. So it would be a battle to the end – and Mozart was the battleground [...]. I did not live on Earth to be His joke for Eternity. I will be remembered! I will be remembered!

– Salieri.

Few days after I watched the play, I picked up Milos Forman’s wonderfully adapted movie as well. The movie was as powerful as the play, with superb acting by Murray Abraham. Some improvisations were done in the movies which were not present in the play. Like the remarkable scene wherein Salieri writes down the Requiem as dictated by Mozart. The dynamics between them was so beautifully captured in this scene. It looked as if God was speaking through Wolfy and the dumbfounded Salieri awestruck watching the goddamned-genius-in-action.

Then, a few months later, Boardwalkers did the play again at the Museum Theatre. I went to the play because 1) My cousin was urging me to take her to the play and 2) I wanted to check whether the goosebumps I got during the first time is for real. But this time it turned out that there were more mosquito bites than goosebumps.

Well, that attempted attempt at humor apart(sigh!), my cousin was engrossed and moved by the play. She was talking about it non-stop. ‘Mediocrity is pitiable’, she said and went on talking about it. Suddenly, I noticed the cardinal difference between the way she looked at the play and the way I looked at it. She, a school topper, an under graduation / post graduation Gold medallist, followed by a high-end managerial /consultant job in the corporate, then a Doctorate and an extremely successful career in the academia, looked at the play as the representation of the every-day fight happening between the “Mediocrities” and the “Geniuses’” of the world. She readily identified herself with Mozart and she was telling me about the Salieris she encountered in her life.. in the corporate.. in the academia etc..

But I, an average-middle, six-arrears-in-under graduation, also-ran-the-race types, looked at the play differently from the way she did. Salieri looked more real to me and I was really moved when Salieri shed tears after hearing the music of Mozart. Here is the mind that exactly knows the feel of God and yet, trying extremely hard to come out of its shell to touch Him. I could more readily identify and empathize with Salieri. He was no mere villain to me, as he was, in my cousin’s eyes.

When I told my views about it, she kinda scorned at me for perpetuating mediocrity. ‘Salieri could have worked hard on his music rather than spending his time and energy on devising a plot against Mozart’, she said. It made lots of sense to me then. But heck, what role would ‘hard work’ play in such primitive artforms like music or painting? Sure, Salieri would have worked hard his way up to become the court composer. But how much hard work is needed to move from the court to the sanctum sanctorum? Could it be quantified? Did Mozart work real hard to become what he was? Or was it a gift, which came naturally to him? If it is so, what did he do to deserve this? Such disturbing questions... Such disturbing questions..

I bet it is easier to say that Salieri should have concentrated on his music over Mozart or over anything else. It is far more easier for one to pin him down as the patron saint of mediocrity and thereby gain some kicks out of it. A person with genuine artistic aspirations would feel pathetic when he realizes the spiralling conditioning of his mind and his inability to come out of it. And far worse the pangs of misery becomes, when he sees someone effortlessly moving beyond this conditioning into a ‘trance’ like state. Even Tolstoy underwent these pangs.
While I am not trying to justify the venomous plot of Salieri, it is no better either to reduce this archetypal antagonism into a ‘Good vs Bad’, ‘Mediocre vs Genius’ fight. As Robert Frost said, ‘We dance round in a ring and suppose, but the Secret sits in the middle and Knows’, the Truth, as usual, lies somewhere in-between.

Tao – The Eternal Balancing Act

“..All sound multiplying and rising together –- and the together making a sound entirely new! ... I bet you that’s how God hears the world. Millions of sounds ascending at once and mixing in His ear to become an unending music, unimaginable to us!” - Mozart

This body is a vessel with unbounded energy. The excessive energy, when unchannelized, takes different forms. Especially during the late mid-years of one’s life, while acceptance and approval and fame – which one strived for throughout their middle-ages becomes less important, wherein realizing their innate potential becomes paramount. Wanting to leave a mark behind, and thereby, moving beyond the death and decay of the material body.

But the tricky part here is, for actualizing the potential, one need to find out what he/she really wants to be and what it takes to become one. The Answer, The Purpose, The Meaning, The Arthah, The Daemon. Till we uncover the Daemon, life is one restless, discontented, anxious struggle.

And this Razor edge path of finding out the answers drains the heck out of people. And sometimes, during the mid-way, it looks like one downward spiral into the abyss. And the energy used for this goes awry, unchannelizes and takes different shapes and forms – as envy, venom, lust, anger, aggression, void, angst, meaninglessness et all. The Arthah obscured. The Daemon befogged. Leading to imaginary creation of Arthas or Daemons, like what Salieri did.
‘my life acquired a terrible and thrilling purpose. The blocking of God in one of his purest manifestations’

And this well-imagined Daemon consumed him in full. This fire which never died, burnt him forever, inch-by-inch and inch-by-inch, which made him call himself ‘the patron saint for mediocrity’ and proclaiming ‘mediocrities everywhere. Here and more to come, I ABSOLVE YOU ALL. I ABSOLVE YOU ALL’. It eventually progressed into a slow death full of remorse and self-hatred. Consigned to flames to woe.

So, what went wrong? Moral of the story? Well, it feels insincere and hypocritical to look at this like an allegory, and to derive at definitive conclusions from them. For, I could feel and see the man in Flesh and Blood and Tears. Well, RIP, Antonio Salieri.

Some people say the movie could be very well remade in Tamil. With IlayaRaja equated to Mozart while Rahman to Salieri. While I do love Raja’s music over anyone else’s music, dumbing down Rahman as a glorified sound engineer looks overtly simplistic and re-asserts the fact that we humans could only think in terms of dualities. Rahman’s popular film music might not stand the test of the time (except a few) and might not sound as fresh as it used to sound like. But little parts of Sufi music within his popular works are soul-stirring. Think about that short interlude in ‘Dil Se (‘Vinmeengalai thandi vaazhum Kadhal..’)’, which keeps repeating throughout the movie. Or the BGM in ‘Iruvar’. Maybe the distinct difference here is that, unlike Salieri, Rahman knows his limitations very well and is slowly moving towards something which he really believes in – Sufism and the affiliated music, which remains his forte. Maybe it is this which differentiated him from Salieri. Dedicating to a cause, to a belief system, which is over and above one’s own personal ego and self-gratification.

The duality inherent in everything is perplexing. And moving beyond the dualities is one ceaseless struggle filled with years and years of disenchantment. The perpetual confusion over ‘Being’ vs ‘Doing’ and ‘Letting go’ vs ‘ Be in control’ is treacherous and tiresome, but it adds some spice and color to life. Maybe, it is in finding something over and above ourselves and dedicating ourselves to it leads to the eternal balancing act – The Tao betwixt the Yin and Yang - leading towards peace, freedom and an end to suffering.

References:

1. http://www.fask.uni-ainz.de/user/makuro/teksty/amadeus/contents.html

2. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wolfgang_Amadeus_Mozart

3. Grace and Grit by Ken Wilber

.

"This is the end
Beautiful friend
This is the end
My only friend, the end"

- jim

ruupam shuunyataa

"With Mike long ago
Under the little
dawn clouds -
waiting for the work-car - Sebastian
was phenomenally
alive, is now
noumenally dead,
just
as
pure
as I"

- Kerouac



"ruupam shuunyataa
shuunyataiva ruupam"

Eve

Fried brown gold beer
shimmering with overflowing haze
and juddering against the lewdness in air.

The forlorn basturd takes a gulp
and follows it up
with a piece of juicy meat
dipped in mayo.

He enters into the world of
ashpalt swamped with vinyl.

Whoring jewels in blinkin lights
jasmine flowers and denim jackets
the shopping spree and discounted sale
curtains and garlands and incense
and camphor and broken coconuts
and the crowded coffee shops.

And behind all these happened
the birth of Kumara!

the Devi and the Junkie
metamorphosing themselves
from emptiness to form.

As worms and fleas
As Arthropods and insects
As birds and animals
As men and women.
And in each of those forms
they made love .

and inturn, each of these forms
gave birth to this
unending song.
and inturn, each of these forms
gave birth to this
unbroken verse.

-*-*-

He walk into the baazar.
One zillion bees
celebrating yet-another-b'day-eve of Kumara.

A few bees bargaining hard on the pavement
over a pair of rugged shoes.
And a few fees flying on top
with their hands held together.
A few buzzing round and round around the windows
there were a few frustrated bald king bees
buzzing restlessly infront of a garment shoppie.

And among these zillion bees
four stood out.

-- and that yippie
boutiques
lipsticks
lingeries
bryanadams santabarbara
tomcruise johnabraham
orkut radiocity maniratnam
Pop corn steamy hot cappuccino
---and an extended foreplay.


-- and that one complete man
bison jockey
with a smoothie silk tie
drucker kotler
rand bach
red-wine cnbc
low calorie
power-lunch
power-dressing
power-nap
and power-fuk
Everything just-in-time
--High performance delivered.


--and that neo-anarcho-commie-lib
glossy scarf
scrunched kurtas
jute bags
nose rings
glittering eyes
calvino
film noir
ericajong
katchyacker
chomsky gramsci
and ofcourse, Focault
--slam-bam-slam-bam
--thank you,mam

--and that Jatamudi
Om teeeeee
rudraksha arm-band
Shiva tatoo
and that tripped-up-wanna-be-hippie-look
or that wanna-get-tripped-so-that-i-can-be-a-hippie-look
ericclaptn bobmarley
gandharva fatehalukhan
gokharna hash
goa trance
tantra mantra
parapsychlogy
kerouac burroughs
bergman bergson
zorba osho
--and one extended valley orgasm.


and ofcourse, the lonely
gross-generalizer,
the passive observer.
trying to deconstruct
the thin long spun web
but gets choked while
trying to patronize
and patternize
the connecting patterns
but gets disconnected
from the rest
in the process.
Mapping the map
and presupposing the mapmaker.
And thereby,
practising active dualism!
That one forlorn basturd.

-*-*-

In front of tht forlorn basturd
around the round round table
the buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
of the bees.



'kill the fukin buddha, babe!
ur your own budda.'
yapped the complete man.
to the sleepy yippie.

'Yup Babe. I have no long hair
I have no pierced ears.
And I polish my shoes evryday.
yup. If you think
am a conformist, so be it!!!!
There is this level of cowardice
lower than that of the conformist
the fashionable non-conformist.

"I make money.
And I spend, bcos I can.",
he yaoppeed again,
while the yippie ordered
her next round of momos.

"I scorn at mediocrity.
Perfection, my dear. Perfection.
Thts my ideal.
Look at those buffoons outside.
Those gulls
who scorn at perfection
for the sake of travel.
but theyll go nowhere.
But, I, my dear.
I, the Jonathan, The Raymonds man
had put aside travel
for the sake of perfection
and I, my dear, I
can go anywhere.
Anywhere. my dear.
Anywhere. jus instantly.!
and That is freedom.
That is supreme freedom.
Each of us is
in truth an unlimited idea of freedom.
Everything that limits us
we have to put aside."

The momos arrived.

"Yup, am a ruthless bastard.
and yup, i do bend the rules
and make some dough. but fuk that!
truth is fukin fuzzy.
And I don't fukin care about tht.
I just act and
leave the rest to these divine verses.

"Thou hast power only to act
not over the result thereof.
Act thou therefore without prospect
of the result and
without succcumbing to inaction"

Afterall,
I,
a humble being
I,
an atom in the universe.
I,
an universe fullluva atoms'

*-*-*


'Choothball..' , there came the Jatamudi.
U FUKIN PARASITE.
suckin the blood outta people
and then U go on and quote Gita
to defend ur fuked-up, corrupted business.
And to conceal ur insecurity
bobbin outta ur blatant individuality,
U use Bach and tht chootia seagull."

"U bloody randieeeeee
to cover ur stinkin ass,
u use Rand.And Feynman.
'a fathom in the universe. an universe fulllof fatoms'
ROTFL. Jesus fuckin Christ."

"The dialectical world u decay in,
U fukin zombie.
No seagull will come to ur rescue.
Only hungry crows will
to smell ur rottenncarca-ass.
No Roark will snob-stare you.
And no verses in Gita
will redeem you from
your well imagined,
fuked up dialectical world."

"And I, the Jatamudi,
and I, the Jatamudi, from the junkies-own-land
will offer to redeem you.
And recommend you
the best self-help book for
all the zombies like u - 'DIE'

And then, the Jatamudi
tied the tie around the neck of the zombie
and shouted
'Ready Set.
Merry go
round.
and round.
and round. '

*-*-*


'Harmony'
'there is no harmony
only cacophony
no peace no love
no space no time.
all bloody fuked up'
said the Jatamudi to the Yippie gurl.

Steamed momos
Shanghai Chicken
Bloody Mary,
they ordered.

'the maddening pace
frightens me'
he confessed to the yippie
we would run away and
be flower children.
making alms by selling pastries
to the bloody tourists.

'okay, my love'
but, what are we goin to do tonite?' , the yippie asked.

'Here.Now. Here.Now.
'It's all so beautiful.
the little kids swallowing their sausages
the pampering lady and the pissed of husband
the pleading sales man
and the ever busy sales gurls.
Cramped pavements.Shops.
City lights.
People.
Places.
It's all so beautiful.', he said.

the food arrived.
room filled with
the aroma of mayonnaise.

'Here.Now' , she said.
'Now.Here', he said

they smelled the food and
threw it outside the window.
and he poured mayonnaise all over her body
And thus, they started making love on the table.

*-*-*

'Boorshua' said the Neoanarchocommielib
'Enlightenment is totalitarian.
Enligtenment is bourgeoisssieeeeeee

'All the arty flatusus are inventions of the elite
how can there be harmony?
how can there be consonance?
when people are starving? '

'look at that textile showroom
and look at the people standing on both sides of the table
what do you see?'
the neo-anarcho-neo-commie-neo-lib asked
while the jatamudi blinked.

'Hahahaahahaaa, u bloody boorshua!
can't you see the women standing on both sides of that table?
the boorshua shopper gurl and the puny sales gurl?
can't you see?', he asked
jatamudi nodded, visibly pissed off for interrupting him while making love
'and what else do you see?
can't u see any other difference?
can't you see the difference between their tittties?
and how uniformly huge it is on the one side
and uniformly flat on the other side?
can't you see that u moron?'
shouted the neolib.

'the history of the world
and the history of the class struggle
is clearly illustrated, thus.hence proved', he said
and took the steel chair and banged it on the head of the jatamudi
and grabbed the mayo-drenched breast of the yippie
and shouts
"Abolish private property.
Workers of the world
Unite!'

*-*-*

the gross generalizer,
the forlorn bastard
got shitscared
after witnessin too much blood
after listenin to too much noise.
And ran outta the babel shoutin
'karl marx murgabadd.
jesus bastard bastard bastard christtt'

*-*-*

Dawn.
Coated with dew,
the asphalt started to blush.
Empty and pure
like a baby's foot..

the forlorn bastard,
running like a madman,
gasped for breath
and fainted and fell down.
Erroneously, he smelled the dew coated asphalt
and involuntarily
started licking it with frenzied delight.

He saw the first rays of sun
caressing the asphalt.
And then, slowly
cocooning the entire place
with its unbounded warmth.

And over the gliterring asphalt, he saw
left becoming right
and right becoming left.
And yesterday becoming today.
And today becoming tomorrow.
And Dawn metamorphizing into Eve.


He got up.
and infront of him,
unaware of any grief,
stood the oceanic sky
stretching with ceaseless joy
and undiminished mercy.

-*-*-

Hide and Seek

That day,
when the Sun
was about to begin
its game of hide and seek,
the little boy exclaimed.
and his exclaim
got mixed with
zillion other exclaimations
of zillion other little boys
and got fused
in as those little secrets
whispered by twilight winds.

The boy then tied
every tiny bit
of those winds of awe
floating on the cosmic way
to the string
and flew his kite
and tried to block
the setting sun.
but the kite
got struck
into the tree.
The evil wind
plays with the little boy
a petty game of
hide and seek!

Thus, the boy grew up
by questioning his exclaimations.
And by doubting his questions
and by questioning his doubts.
and started playing
with himself
a game of hide
and seek.

And thus,
the cosmos sighed a sigh
with relief.
*-*-*
And he still keeps playing.
But there is nothing to hide now.
except those lost pages
scribbled with pain.
But there is nothing to hide now.
except the blistering self-hate
behind the bruised face.
But there is nothing to hide now.
except the last tinges of vanity
behind the bruised face.
*-*-*
Hang-over.
And watch, Bergman.
Dysentery .
Accompanied with kazantzakis.
Weed.Along with Nick Drake.
Masturbation. And then, Moonlight sonata.
Constipation. And then, read Ken wilbur.
Pornography with Bach.
Puke.Putrid Puke.
-*-*
Whose game is the little boy playing now?
Whom does he play with?
What should he play for?

Yet, He keeps playing.
To Him, it doesn't matter
if there is nothing to hide
as long as
there is lots
and lots
to Seek!

He waits for the angelic sky
to tickle his bruised face
with its rose bud lips
and to drench his thrist
by whispering those ancient secrets
into his dumbded down ears.
And give back
his own piece of exclaim
which once painted the sky
with infinite tones of orange.

And even today
the little one's
primordial sound
of exclaim
is still floating
as those
little secrets
ushered by twilight winds
which keeps the world moving
and makes the sky weep.
*-*-*

Decay. And Die Slow.

Vincent

Starry, starry night
Paint your palette blue and gray
Look out on a summer's day
With eyes that know the darkness in my soul...
Shadows on the hills
Sketch the trees and the daffodils
Catch the breeze and the winter chills
In colors on the snowy linen land.


Now I understand
What you tried to say, to me
And how you suffered for your sanity
And how you tried to set them free:
They would not listen; they did not know how --
Perhaps they'll listen now.


Starry, starry night
Flaming flowers that brightly blaze
Swirling clouds in violet haze
Reflect in Vincent's eyes of china blue
Colors changing hue
Morning fields of amber grain
Weathered faces lined in pain
Are soothed beneath the artist's loving hand.


For they could not love you
But still, your love was true
And when no hope was left inside
On that starry, starry night
You took your life as lovers often do--
But I could've told you, Vincent:
This world was never meant
For one as beautiful as you.


Starry, Starry night
Portraits hung in empty halls
Frameless heads on nameless walls
With eyes that watch the world and can't forget
Like the strangers that you've met
The ragged men in ragged clothes
The silver thorn, a bloody rose
Lie crushed and broken on the virgin snow.



Now I think I know
What you tried to say, to me
And how you suffered for your sanity
And how you tried to set them free:
They would not listen; they're not listening still--
Perhaps they never will.

(Vincent - Don McLean)

Kickin' the Yogi

the punk fixed up
an appointment with
the good ol' yogi from Nazareth.

'redeem me you scum, you fukin delivery boy', punk boy said
The Nazarene smiled and said,
'From where?
To where?'.

punkster got angry and said
'you fukin boorshua..
ur making spineless slaves outta ordinary men..
you and your phoney preachings..
.you are the fukin biggest economic hitman...
glorifyin misery and hunger and starvation.
and givin false beliefs to people
that suffering is the path to salvation..
there is no redemptionther eis no salvationthere is no soulthere is no nothing..
you are a fukin CIA agent' .

Punkster got up
and kicked the yogi.
And then went on to write a book
which became a bestseller.
"If you meet Nazarene on the road, Kick him!"

Nazarene smiled.
and said
'ji is us'