I am going to fucking take their heads and ram it right through their computer screens. Oh you want to listen to it? Huh? Why don’t i twist your ears right over the fucking speakers you fucking retard. Should I press your fat face into the screen? Should I? Dare me motherfucker. Dare me.
Oooooo look at me I listen to acapella and shit. Oooh look dude no fucking instruments..oooo you know what they call that? It is called singing motherfucker.
Sing. Just fucking sing. Oooooh.
Fuck you too.
And you toh definitely.
Went to Velas this weekend. It is a small village somewhere on the Mahrashtra coast where these turtles lay eggs. And then the eggs hatch and these little cute-as-fuck (and suspiciously delicious looking) baby turtles waddle and crawl their way into the ocean. Full magical and shit cause the fuckers are real tiny and you gotta wonder how they are going to make their way into the sea.
I would have witnessed those magical moments had I not been forced to take a giant dump on top of a hill overlooking the sea. Long story but the gist is that the baby turtles are released at some ungodly hour in the morning, we woke up at 5 am, the loos were occupied, and the first “location” recce was interrupted by a unfucking believably curious dog who just wanted to sniff everything. Sniff.
All those who have been denied a dump due to curious canines, put your hands up in the air yo. Bounce ’em around yo in the air.
Anyway, so while the baby turtle was waddling towards the sea, there I was on top of the hill. Behind some thorny (as I found out) bushes. Squatting. Wondering if those sounds I heard were people’s feet or just some random fox or bear or whatever.
It was a good but slightly hectic trip cause we were in a bus for close to 16 hrs over the weekend. A bit much ya. No a/c. Smelling like shit. Hot air blowing through the windows and a bunch of anorexic kids (twenty year olds) playing antakshari at the back. I could have fuckin acapelled them.
But highly recommended it is. Velas. Apparently there are a couple of other turtle sights down the coast as well.
The bus trip though made me itch for the bike again. There was this one part in the evening on the way back where these four biker chaps just cruised by. And I was like “fkfkfkkfkfkfkfkfkfkfk HULK WANT BIKE”
Gotta go get me ma bike.
I realised that most of my “romances” follow a strikingly similar course. First, the random hi hellos followed by much serendipity and then the breakup due to some completely ridiculous reason. Which is fucking juvenile by itself but what really kicks up the scoville scale is the inevitable glorification of the previous. As if in the past everything was so fucking rosy and perfect and how no one could ever be like that. It is all so cyclical that sometimes I wonder if I am living in my groundhog day.
I finished reading Tuesdays with Morrie and was full sad by the end of it. Full proper sad and all. Didn’t want the fucker to die at all even though I knew all along that he would.
I really do think that we are getting more and more obsessed with recording rather than living. With penning down and photographing and instagramming and updating rather than just being. Just listening and talking and hearing some more. Of holding someone and feel them against you, the rise and fall of their breath. Of tasting the smokiness in a cup of tea made over a charcoal fire and not wanting to Skype about it. Why this pressing need, this demand to document? (Yes I realise this is a blog. fuck you)
Oh and I was full contemplating by the sea and thinking how everyone is basically a storybook. Everyone. And they have their own chapters and verses and commas and full stops. And they have their own cover pages, and descriptions on the side with references from people you may or may not know. And sometimes the storybook looks so good on the outside and some times it does not. And some times the book pulls you in, making you hold onto every page and turn each page eagerly, just to see what will happen next.
Or some times. Well some times.
I am glad to live in a world where ideas can never run out.