Where the future looks bright, like those kids who sit in the first bench and pay attention and take notes and all

Notes it seems.

I know I know, writing is an effective method of information retention, and it helps focus the left side of the brain, also known as the medulla goeffurself.

But still.

Naa, actually I dont have anything against note keepers. I think they serve a noble purpose in fact, helping us gaandus when the shit gets real. The most sought-after were the ones who not only made notes, but those who made notes in clear handwriting AND were willing to share them.

That last bit is the most important one. After all, what good is all the food in the world if it is held in the arms of a stone faced bouncer. Those would be some massive fucking arms no? Like that bouncer could bear hug all of china.

I wonder what that would look like. Mashes of people stuck together in this death grip, slowly being crushed into each other. Slowly, because you have to round all of them up, and then you can start your work. Slowly. So that first they try and fight it out, push and tear at each other. But then, they can no longer even do that. And the bodies come closer and closer together, covering noses and ears and mouths. Until the screams can no longer be screamed. The cracking of the bones, of the teeth, the rupture of the veins and arteries.

The sound of a million people dying.

In a bear hug.

I really should re-start work on my children’s book.

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There is this one song by Phish that I have just falled in love with.

https://play.google.com/music/m/Tlytvilydzzi5dhwukezxifqeri?t=Waste_-_Phish

Matlab wah bhai. Isko bolto hain music. Kya lyrics maara hai bhai.

Matlab wah.

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I like the word “matlab” especially if it is used to emphasize something particularly redundant. Then it should be used like this “matlab why?”

Kro, you should really eat healthy and do exercise and all.

Matlab why.

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I wonder who came up with this concept of surnames. And middle names. What possible purpose do they serve. Wouldnt it make more sense just to have like 4-5 first names and then just add numbers after them?

“Yo, Joseph 743! Wazzup brah, long time”.

I don’t really think it would get too confusing. Yeah, maybe the numbers would get bigger but then people would keep popping off (in a bear hug?), and so you would more or less have some new numbers coming up. Like they have for mobile numbers.

I don’t know how I would feel about being called a number. I know that that is a technique used in jails and hospitals to de-humanise the convict/patient. To distance the “human” element, and I get that argument. But still yaar.

And middle names toh matlab why. Serve absolutely no purpose whatsoever. I mean just thooso it in the surname if you are so desperate. Why you want to waste ink on this paper and that form and this passport and all? Means why?

“Mary Schumacher Kro. Why you not taking notes?”

“Miss, but why miss? Matlab why?”

“Come here, I will tell you why! Come here now. Hold out your hands. And if you cry, you will get five more!”

dhoom bishoom dhoom.

It would be cool if the teacher tried to fuck around with some kid who had some third degree belt in karate. Fuck, i would buy popcorn and all for that shit.

.

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Where the titles are lost, not in translation, but in this brooding, menancing rain

Entire libraries swept away. Just swept away, books and books dissolving into the waves. Have you ever looked at a piece of paper as it drowns in water? It is beautiful to watch. The water will first soften the paper, and then break it down, bit by bit. Crumbling in slow motion, like in a different kind of space.

And you know you can’t save it, the paper is gone forever. Because even if you pull it out, all you get is a dead, clumped up, soggy mess. Disfigured and spoilt, with no purpose, no life anymore.

This is going in a direction that I do not wish to explore right now.

So I wont.

Oh choice, I love you. I do. Like I hate you.

CHAI BREAK

 

Yeah, I think that is going to be my new catchphrase: CHAI BREAK!

Just scream it when shit is getting too real, when I am asked to act all mature and responsible. And when the questions get a little too personal (can’t have people figuring out what kind of feku I am, now can I)

So kro, what do you do?

CHAI BREAK!

….

Fuck man. I am so funny. Its not funny. It is just not funny.

I think I should get a new laptop.

Why?

CHAI BREAK!!!!!

 

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Where you stick with it; after all, no one can outrun a freakishly fast super glue

I think that would be my ideal nightmare. An ideal nightmare is one where you know you are dreaming, you know you are going to wake up soon, but you still are scared. Like pee-droplets scared.

Anyway, super fast super glue.

Just rushing all over the place, faster than you would think it could go. Causing havoc in the streets, with people running (or trying to run) away from this blob of translucent liquid that just keeps on spreading (like chicks?).

I wonder what glue felt about super glue? You think it was all like, “Ooooo super glue, now THAT is something I want to be”, looking at adoration whenever the two were stacked (snigger) on the same shelf in the store? Or was it more a sense of insecurity, the fear that everyone will just go for super glue, and regular glue will phase into the world of forgottens.

That is actually a recurring theme in a lot of cartoons and movies that I have seen – the forgotten. An entire world, or galaxy even, of things that are simply forgotten, no longer in anyone’s memory, as good as dead but not yet dead. I think there was also an Adam Smith pun that you could find one of the forgotten worlds in that gap in the sofa. Something of that sort.

You think words can make a difference? And not a ripple which is swallowed up by the sea, but an actual current that travels miles and miles, and pulls things into its way, and carries all these magnificent animals to their homes and away?

I don’t know. I think “power” can be imprinted in a lot more things that one would ordinarily think possible. Not quite sure where I am going with this, but let me try. So “change” means using some energy to make things different from what they were. And this energy is what I am referring to as power. And this power can exist in words, actions, money as traditionally understood, but can also exists in choice, ignorance, intelligence.

Does this make sense? Not too sure ya.

Maybe I should just stick to the lighter stuff you know. Like ha ha  hee hee. But then life is not all about that, now is it? Yes, I am looking at you, Meet the Kapoors Lady person. She was also in that one before MTK, Goodness Gracious Me.

That was the shizzle. Like for sizzle.

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Where we listen as the music dances into our ears, shuffling and sashaying like a delicate wave

In my head, there is this x-axis and y-axis of certain things that you would think never meet, but then there is this one point where they do actually intersect. I mean it happens very secretly and very, very few people are ever allowed to witness it but that doesn’t mean it don’t happen now do it?

Like the taste of waves, or rather the waves tasting the air. You think they do that? Just leap out and taste a little bit of the air and then go back down. All in this tiny, tiny fraction of a second. It is like imagining consciousness to be a temporary phenomenon. Real temporary.

So you are alive, and awake, and aware for just a tiny tiny tiny fraction. And then you disappear or go back into whatever non-aware state you were. But for that infinitesimally tiny part of time, you were there. You were awake, you were aware. You were that wave, opening its tiny mouth (mouths), and tasting the air. And then perhaps smiling, or perhaps trying to remember why the taste seemed so familiar, or perhaps not having any reaction at all. And then, just like that, going back into the sea. Just like that.

Not aware anymore. Without any memories, or feelings or anything to mark the moment when it tasted air.

I don’t know where I am going with this. Like that has ever stopped you before.

Fair enough.

.

Fair enough, just enough. How restrictive the word “enough” is. I don’t like it. No, I do not like it. What do you mean enough? Who the fuck are you to judge, to make that decision, to decide? Motherfuka

That felt good.

Like listening to Phish after the longest time, and letting their magic sashay into your ears. Words, music, and that little bit of magic that comes along with the songs. You know what I am talking about no?

The magic bro. The magic, the way the words and the notes mesh into one, and then they enter your mind, and your body, and you can feel the music in your hands, and toes, and the way it makes your body move this way and that. Your brain munches on the music, on the words, and you believe that you are having a conversation. You are the listener, you are the one paying attention.

.

You think everything is really in balance? Like, at every single level, there is some amount of give and take. You pay someone, and then someone or something pays you and so on and so forth.

Like the whole idea of a “balance” is highly suspect to me. I think its more like some sort of rollercoaster ride where they forgot to fix those things that hold you down in the seat. Okay, this is becoming juvenile now.

Toodles.

Hear some good music tonight. Sashay to the music. Swing them hips slowly, and feel the notes run down your skin.

 

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Where the clouds breathe silently, deep in thought and slightly crabby

I wonder what a cloud’s breath would sound like. You think they sigh? Look down on the world below, and stare at the light above, and just go “siiiiiighhhh”. You think they giggle when the planes fly through them, “Oh not there. Ohhhhh” or are they all angry and invaded privacy types.

You think clouds talk? With each other or even with the birds and animals and trees that they can see. Do you think they talk back? I wonder if there is a language that is not necessarily spoken, and if that would still be called a language.

There is something constricting about language at times, even if you don’t know all the rules or know the rules but choose to ignore them.

I wonder what it would mean to be translucent and porous at the same time. Just read the invisible man for the first time, and there is enough there to really spook the bejesus out of you. I mean he creates this suspense and evil atmosphere like no one I have read yet.

 

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Where we sing nursery rhymes in the darkness, clutching our knives and waiting for the victims

Heyzoos man.

That almost scared the bejesus out of me. Almost. I don’t do horror movies. I just don’t. Especially post sundown. You can have the brightest lights in the whole frikkin world but sundown is sundown.

You can’t fight the moonlight.

That was an actual song no? Yeah by some chick it seems. And googling the lyrics in three, two….

Deep in the dark
You’ll surrender your heart
But you know
But you know that you can’t fight the moonlight

.

Something thrilling is about to happen. (in your pants? – Ed).

I think suspense is like the slightly mean and demented cousin of hope. Like Suspense did not get the love and positive attention while growing up, and mostly spent his childhood catching flies and sticking them with fevicol while they were still alive (is this about your childhood kro? Because there are professionals who can help you with this kind of shit – Ed)

Or maybe Suspense was like this average to ugly looking kid, and Hope was all gorgeous and angelic, and hence got all the attention at the kiddies parties. Maybe.

Speaking of which, have you gone to a kiddies party recently? Those fuckers are animals man. Absolute animals. First of all, god alone knows who thought it made sense to give those fuckers unlimited coke and ice cream. It is a bit like watching people on free cocaine. Except these fuckers are smaller AND can get away with running around without any direction while screaming shit that no one can understand.

I think it is all about being able to get away. That is what really defines an action. Like the end is the means, if you know what I means.

Mins? Mins what only. Mins that only. That there was shit only.

I love the Madrasi style only.

Its like “only” has been ripped apart from the dimension it was created in, and then inserted into this new one where the rules are completely different and what “only” means is also different.

Think about it. How the fuck did “only” become something that is placed at the very end of the sentence, and that too with some super sexual emphasis.

He only! He only molested my plants while they were being watered (oh the non-veg joke spiral that last sentence inspired)

That only!

.

Okay brothers and sisters. I think I would like to address a crowd beginning with those terms. Kind of like a priest or the head of some mildly psychotic cult. Like one which encourages chess playing while also forcing you to shave your head. Bald headed chess players association.

And everyday, there would be this inspirational speech given by yours truly. Looking out, into a sea of baldies carrying chess pieces in plastic bags, I would begin the day’s inspiration by saying “”Okay brothers and sisters”

I wonder if chess players trash talk. I am sure they do, but then how do they get away with it. Do they mumble it under their breath, but then the referee is like right there. Maybe they hold the chess pieces in some sort of vulgar fashion. Or make the pawns hump the elephant or something like that.

“Oooo see what my pawn is doing” or “My elephant gonna destroy your camel (toe?) mofo. From the back”

Jesus kro where do you come up with this shit.

In the bushes bro. While I wait. Singing nursery rhymes. Waiting for the victims.

Ta-daa!

 

 

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Where we learn that to create, you have to lose a little

Just a little. Not like a pound of flesh or anything, but just a little. So you know what the pain of losing feels like, the helplessness you need to feel if you are to write about something that you care so much about. The desperation, never paralysing but still hurtful in its own way, and the ripple of panic that hits you through your body.

Yeah, you need to know that in order to write. Write well. Do you think you write well? Yes, I do. How do you know that? Because people tell you that you do? Well, I wouldnt say that that has not happened, but no, I don’t think that is how I know. Then how?

You know when you are doing something you are good at, something that you enjoy with that space that is between your heart and your mind, right in the middle? You can feel your brain working, at this pace that feels just right, not too hard not too easy. And you can feel your heart too, you can feel the emotions that flow around and over your words. So it is like watching a river, and hearing the stream flow through the land. You can hear the leaves rustle, and if you want, you can dip your hand into the water and you can feel the cold, cold water. But that is not all. If you look up, you can see the sun drip through the leaves, and you can feel the shadows of the leaves fall on your face. If you close your eyes, you can hear the silence. That beautiful beautiful silence, the kind of silence that was there when the universe first began. Do you know what I am talking about?

Yeah, so that is how I know I write well.

Slightly conceited no?

I don’t think so; for conceit carries, for me, the presumption that it rests on untruth. You cannot (should not?) be conceited over something that is true.

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I rediscovered Phish and it makes me happy.

Someone asked me what makes me happy and I had to think way too long before I could answer with any semblance of honesty. Which made me think of these obstacles that come in between your thoughts, these false signs pointing at diversions that do not exist, or if they do, then they actually lead you to the land of the lost. So you have to be careful, and slow, and make sure that your thoughts don’t get distracted, and this can be very difficult because you are forced to see through flying sand, and roads that you don’t really remember anymore.

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