Wednesday, October 31, 2007

Minus Communication

Imagine if we couldn't communicate with each other. Imagine if communication never existed, never began. No talk, no signs, nothing. What other activities could we all indulge in to occupy ourselves, I wonder. Let's not think dirty now. I mean good activities, productive (I mean lots of things by that word) activities, etc...
We wouldn't be idle I'm sure. We might experiece boredom every once in a while...but hey...that's normal right (like now..this is a produce of boredom)? Below is a list of activities which we could engage ourselves in if we didn't have communication.


>Fucking a whale. (why not?)
>Stealing. (who's to yell for help..can't communicate right?)
>Sleeping. ('s an activity with little physical activity)
>Swimming. (because I want to)
>Run around. (good exercise)
>Add your own

I just realized somthing. We wouldn't be able to blog. It's a form of communication. (don't tell me you didn't know!!!) Therefore in favour of communication I have to abruptly end this post as it is not in favour of my current most favorite hobby...blogging. I've therefore concluded that if communication didn't exist I'd be more bored than what I am today!!!

p.s.: I so really wanted to extend that list!!!

Tuesday, October 30, 2007

A Spark Neglected Burns The House - Leo Tolstoy

The story was about how two neighboring families suffered a feud started due to an assumption of a missing egg. The two families were of Ivan Shcherbacov and Limping Gabriel. Each one would slap a case on the other. The father of Ivan told him to put a stop to the feud by not getting angry each time and settle the matter with peace. The son heard nothing of what his father said till his house was set on fire by Gabriel. He didn't tell on Gabriel and eventually things got back to normal.
I don't really approve of this story. I'm not sure if I'm just biased or something else. I don't believe people can live in harmony. It's not because I'm a pessimist (I'm not!!!) but it's just that no matter how peacefull things are there's always someone who'll do something to bring it down if not something that causes hell. Frankly I think it's just our perceptions, the way we see situations rather than what situations really are. We just are the way we are.
Although as a moral story for kids this would work just great.

Sunday, October 28, 2007

What Men Live By - Leo Tolstoy

A man named Michael is taken out of pity by a poor bootmaker named Simon to his home after he was found naked by a shrine where he is at first not welcome by the bootmaker's wife, Matrena but she is convinced by her husband and therefore agrees to keep the him. Michael continues to live with the Simon, his wife and childeren for 6 years after which he reveals himself to be an angel from heaven who was meant to learn three truths namely 'what dwells in man', 'what is not given to man', and 'what men live by'. Respectively the truths were, 'in man dwells love, 'it is not given to man to know his own needs', and 'men live by god'. The angel then took his leave in a bright light.
A story with a moral no doubt. Simon could've chosen to leave Michael where he was but chose not to. Compassion in this day of age is as good as gone. People are more afraid of being victims of something much worse rather than taking a chance. The story deals with matters which are today not considered important except for a select few from various groups.
I liked the following parahgraph. It had a lot of meaning to it. The following was said just before the angel Michael was about to depart from Simon's house.
" I knew before that God gave life to men and desires that they should live; now I understood more than that.
I understood that God does not wish men to live apart, and therefore he does not reveal to them what each one needs for himself; but he wishes them to live united, and therefore reveals to each of them what is necessecary for all.
I have now understood that thought it seems to men that they live by care for themselves, in truth it is love alone by which they live, He who has love, is in God, and God is in him, for God is love."
Even though it can be argued against the above words it nevertheless feels good to at least stop and think about it for a while in the middle of our stress and worry filled lives.

Saturday, October 27, 2007

The Bear Hunt - Leo Tolstoy

The story is about a man who tells about his experience of trying to kill a bear, amost being ripped to shreads by the same and lives to tell the tale. The bear eventually ends up dead and stuffed like most dead bears do.
This story had no intention of making any point whatsoever. I saw no purpose in chasing some lone bear and killing it. But as a story of survial it was okay.
The descriptions of sound and surroundings were nice especially with the sounds made when walking on snow, the fresh kind and the kind that's been there for ever a day or two.
Very simple, child-like.

A Prisoner In The Caucasus - Leo Tolstoy

It's a story about how two Russian officers who are captured by Tartars who asked ransom from them to be set free. One is Zhilin and the other is Kostilin. Zhilin was the smarter of the two. Dina the daughter of Abdul, the man who bought the two Russian officers felt pity for Zhilin and helped him in every way she could. The two officers tried to escape but failed. The second time only Zhilin escaped since Kostilin was too ill to join him. Later he reaches some other soilders and is saved. As for the other soilder his ranson is paid and he was set free.
I think that Zhilin should've escaped the first time without Kostilin. He could've come back with other officers to save him once he was safe. I liked Zhilin for his determination which was what got him out of his plight. He was also very creative so he was able to while away his time instead of remaining idle.
I really like the detailed descriptions made in the story though. It made the story more real and easier to imagine. The details about how the blood covering his eyes making it hard to see and the whistling sound made when the horse's windpipe was cut was macabre but nicely described.

God Sees Truth But Waits - Leo Tolstoy

This story is about a man named Dimitrich who is wrongly accused of murdering a fellow merchant and ends up in jail where he was considered as a meek and truthful man. In the jail he finds out who was the real murderer of his merchant friend, a man named Makar. Makar tries to escape prison by making a tunnel. Dmitrich finds out but Makar threatens to kill him if he tells on him. The prison officers ask Dmitrich but he doesn't tell. Makar confesses to both the tunneling and the previous murder but by then Dmitrich was already dead.
How can a man lose all hope of seeing his family again I wonder? Did he not love his wife and childeren that he never wanted to join with them? Had he told on Makar earlier he would have been released and been able to at least let his family know the truth and remain with them untill he died. His family and friends now think of him as a murderer when he wasn't. Then again, no one of his family or friends ever visited him.
There's nothing particular that I like in this short story. It could've been better.

Friday, October 26, 2007

Know Your Man - Femina Miss India Magazine

I'm a girl. I too want to know my man. When I came upon this article I played it thinking it would make me feel happy. It was an article based on numerology. All I had to do was using their number pattern find out the true numerical value of my boyfriend's number and I would be able to find out his true nature and know what to do from there. Once I was done I learnt that my boyfriend was a lying cheat and that I should find out if he's already married otherwise I might end up as the third angle of a triangle. This was outrageous!!! Now I was mad. I couldn't tell if I should trust my man or trust my magazine! Of course, I decided to trust my instincts instead.

Your supposed to find the value of each letter of his name add it all up till it's just one single number.
eg: Andy= 1+5+4+7=17=8.
Below is the grid along with the results so that you can test it out for youself. Have fun!!!

A=1 B=2 C=3 D=4 E=5 F=6 G=7 H=8 I=9
J=1 K=2 L=3 M=4 N=5 O=6 P=7 Q=8 R=9
S=1 T=2 U=3 V=4 W=5 X=6 Y=7 Z=8
TH=8 PH=3 CH=4 PS=5

No.1 : A danger of extramarital affairs.
No.2: Is practical and is able to contribute to joint financial affairs.
No.3: Find out if he's married and not teling you else you'll end up as the third angle of a triangle.
No.4: Is dominating, loves affection and is after you for all the wrong reasons.
No.5: Is sincere and honorable. Prepare for a happy and married life.
No.6: Can form unsatisfactory relationships leading to untold unhappiness.
No.7: May come off as a flirt, extroverted.
No.8: Is restless and can have more than one mariage as well as divorce.
No.9: Likes older women which can bring him great unhappiness.

Hope you had fun.

Thursday, October 25, 2007


I'm not swearing so therefore you can't sue me. I'm here to discuss a word which is so flexible that it can be used in all sorts of ways. As a noun, an adjective, a verb an adverb and various other forms as well. Let me show you how. I'll provide some sentences which makes sense and then some senseless ones. Go figure which ones are which:

Sentence 1: Last night a manly man and I had a good fuck.
Sentence 2: That was a fucky paper.
Sentence 3: I want to fuck a whale.
Sentence 4: The food was fucking horrible.
Sentence 5: Fuck you, you fucking fuck!
Sentence 6: My fucking car is so fucking fucked up.
Sentence 7: I fucking fucked a fucking fucked up fuck.
Sentence 8: Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!!!

After reading those sentences over and over again I finally concluded that the word 'cluck' sounds very much like the word 'fuck'. Especially the last sentence. It sounds like an exited chicken madly running around the farm. It would go well if one would do a chicken dance and say sentence no.8 at the same time.

p.s.: The author has never actually used any of the given sentences in reality.

Tuesday, October 23, 2007

I Swear.... I Don't

There's something wrong. Something wrong with me. I can't swear. I really can't. I mean no matter how hard I try (I'm lying..I don't try at all) I can just never manage to make myself to swear. It's almost like I've no got anger inside me. But that can't be true. I've got to have some sort of anger deep down in the recesses of my heart. I can't be ms. 'smile-all-the-time'.
The only times I remember being angry at people were when I was younger. When I was a cranky kid. When I wanted I'd get mad. I remember that I would cry too just to get my way. I was a tantrum thrower. A real spoilt brat I'm sure.
What I'd like to know is a logical explaination to my change. How and why did I become a non-swearing person when practically each and every even and odd person around me swears?
I can't be like this. This is wrong. Being a non-swearer is wrong. I need to be corrected.
Although I don't see why I need to complain. At least I have a better vocab. I don't have to use the same swear words over and over. What do people get out of it I still don't understand.
Great!!! Now I feel pretty much happy with the way I am and don't really feel like swearing. I answered my own question. And I wrote an entire article for nothing. Hail me!

Sunday, October 21, 2007

Lady Dove Killer

I see a beautiful lady,
Sadly sitting on a balcony above me.
She's in the pink of health,
But she's black with stealth.
She doesn't mind; -5
Me writing her a silly rhyme;
She waits for more,
Like she's always done before.
Like she had a soft heart;
Hope we never drift apart. -10

Each time she does;
Kill a different dove.
I sit and look up at her,
And watch the falling feathers.
I watch the dripping blood, -15
The dark puddles of it form into a flood;
The feathers all white,
In the blood look so bright.
I feel the two of us somehow connect;
I then watch the sweeper the feathers collect. -20

Tuesday, October 09, 2007

Have An Eye...Have A Pink Eye!!!

The air is different. Oh what could it be? It's Conjuntivitus. Hurrah!!! Conjunctivitus is in the air. It's all around us. Everyone wants to share it with everyone else. The air is filled with it. Oh, glorious day!! How we all stare into the eyes all around. How pretty in pink they all are. Some are so happy that puss streams out of their eyes. Dreams have never been better that nobody wants to open their eyes at dawn. They close them so tight that they can't open them without an eye-dropper. Oh the supreme joy!!
The feeling is free. Free for everybody. Free for you. Free for me. Free from health. It's so free that a little girl sits on the stairs. She beckons them all. "Come one, come all." She beckons everyone around her to look into her pretty pink eyes. She cries, "Have An Eye...Have A Pink Eye!!!"

Saturday, October 06, 2007

My Pink Bunny And I

I was once upon a time a little girl. And like many other little girls I wanted to know from where babies came from and the reason to why I was born. My mummy told me that it was because daddy kissed her and kissed her and then she became pregnant (it's not that she completely lied). And so that was the story of my birth. Now me being as curious as most normal little childeren are wanted to try it out myself. I wanted to kiss someone and see if I'd get childeren of my own too.
I was never friendly with many boys. Okay, I was never friendly with any boy. So I needed a substitute for a 'boy' so I could kiss him and make him give me babies. I couldn't kiss my brother. And even at that very delicate age I was sensible enought to know that he probably wasn't capable to kiss me enough times to make me pregnant. Then I thought of a friend. A friend who was a 'he'. A friend who I've been sleeping with since I knew of his existance. My friend, the Pink Bunny. Okay, so what if he was a soft toy??? He was a 'he' and that was more than enough for me. So I took Mr. Bunny in my room and locked it from inside. After about a whole 5 minutes of kissing him I gave up, unlocked the door threw him back in the pile of other toys and went to get a glass of water since he left my mouth too dry. The next day I confessed to my mummy. I felt guilty. She laughed at my face. Told me that I wouldn't get pregnant and sent me back out of the kitchen.
Many years have passed and I've forgotten all about Mr. Bunny (an understatement since I've just mentioned about him). Now I sit and wait to see who's going to get me pregnant 'cause then I'll get to say, "You're a really good kisser!"

Wednesday, October 03, 2007

A Day In The Train Compartment

I like taking the train. I really do. It's always fun. I get to see how people like to get on each other's nerves early in the morning. It's usually the same scene day after day. The only difference is that each time it's a different person. Here's what happens each day...

First it's the insane struggle to enter the oh-so-very-crowded train. And if you're hanging from the train make sure you at least try to shove yourself in. For some reason people won't move in once they're comfortable. Then from the inside of the train (I say inside 'cause I'm usually hanging on to the pole for dear life) you'll hear someone elbowing hard at someone else (you can tell with all the jingle-jangle of the bangles) trying to tell them they're sticking too much. Then the other person will elbow back (..more jingle-jangle) and spit out an abusive word. From there on it'll be a musical fiesta of elbowing and abusing. At that point I'm wishing I was more inside the train to watch the sideshow. Once you do manage to get youself in and if those same cribbing passangers are still in the compartment you'd be able to see better their furrowed brows and sweaty foreheads to match their grimaces. You don't want to stare at them at that point. They might want to vent out their anger on you too.
Sometimes the train stops at a signal. Since it's early morning you'll see all the males squatting on the tracks defecating. And if you look really hard you'll see them in their true nudity. Never a mooner on the tracks. They all prefer to face the trains.
Then the train stops mid way. You can't look out 'cause then you get the see men minus undies. And if you look in you might grab the attention of the squabbling chickens who at this point are engaging in conversation with others beside them trying to make them agree with their facts about the other chicken being some abusive word or the other. So you've got the beaultiful sun behind clouds scene to stare at if a building isn't blocking it. And the tension remains till either of the two squabblers either leaves the compartment or goes to a different part of it. Of course, eventually at some point they do get bored of themselves and shut up and by then I'm off the train muttering about the joy of how I'm going to have to put up with the next day of strange elbowing chickens in the train.


Birthdays, we all love 'em. They're always so much fun. We get friends who we've forgotten or wanted to forget bubbling to the surface to wish you just 'cause they somehow remembered. You get gifts from friends who you didn't gift and practically nothing from your everyday friends, except for minute by minute, persistant cries for birthday treats. Oh and there's the random aunt or uncle who comes to pull your cheeks as a way of saying' "your too fat.", or even shaking you to bits to say, "you're too you eat well??"
But that's not what birthdays are really about. Birthdays have a more deeper meaning. A much much deeper meaning. It's as deep as a bottomless well and even as meaningless as a big chicken in the sky.
I'm not making fun here. This is serious. Think about it. I'm quite sure every year on your birthday the Grim Reaper comes n follows you all about. Waiting for you to choke on that cake piece, on the chips or on the the beer you sneaked in with you. He lurks about and keeps murmuring to himself, "Another year less for you, soon your soul will be mine." while staring at you in your penultimate laugh..or so he thinks. I hate his hollow eyes. I saw him this time. I'm pretty sure I did. I felt his cold hands on my throat. That devil!!!!
Well actually he just dropped in to say "hi!" He obviously knew he couldn't make me come along this time either. So he had a piece of the cake, muttered something about it being horrid and left.


p.s: I must've been high. How I wish I were.