Monday 31 August 2009

So long

I shall digress here no more. I have moved to what seemed like the greener pastures of wordpress: http://iffyephemerals.wordpress.com/.
It's not greener, no. But it is a change of scenery.

I will leave with a bit of short clumsy verse, not appropriate for parting really but I feel like I should say something :)

As I stepped out into a mellow breeze,
a burst of pollen made me sneeze.
Engaged as such, I couldn’t quite see
and I walked right into a nearby tree.

As I stepped back and tended my bruise,
a black clould at that moment (violently) let loose,
fell to the earth, and drenched yours truly
who certainly didn’t deserve this, surely?

The new one opens with another one along the same lines but where I don't necessarily run into trees.

Tuesday 5 May 2009

Unifinished business

(05/05/09) So after watching this 1996 film about 1964, I'm pacing up and down the length of the kitchen wiping up and popping the occasional unwashed grape in to my mouth, desperate to use the only (occupied) bathroom in the house... And I get it. Finally.

What I 'got' that day, is uncertain. But I remember what a nice feeling it was. A slight buzz that would trail me pleasantly, until I wrote it down. But I took so long to get to the point, it had frizzled away. The film in question: That thing you do!
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(18/04/09) Rosemary and Thyme (title only)

I was sick then, and my room-mate improvised with the said herbs instead of eucalyptus or whatever else is usually used, for a steam session at the stove. Which was brilliant. I have no idea what I thought of writing about then though.
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(15/01/09) Having read a lot of diary-ing in the past week I feel like writing myself. I had previously established (probably more than once) that I would avoid diary-like-spewage-sessions here but I haven't quite kept my word on that.. I have also been noticing that when I'm into a book or have just finished it - my language and even the words in my head start to take a slight hint of the style in the book. For that matter I seem to be prone even to the people I spend time with. But wait, are you interested in what my lingual influences are? Does it matter whether you are? Does it matter whether 'ligual influence' coveys correctly, what I'm trying to get at ?And thus we lapse into 'more rhetorical frippery'(1) as one dictionary gives an example usage of the word.

Here I had just finished reading 'Engleby' by Sebastian Faulks. It took some mild rhetorical frippery to find out I didn't have anything to say about it after all.
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(26/11/08)I'm frequently

Well, I don't know. I'm frequently... a lot of things! I'm frequently clumsy, I'm frequently down with a cold, I'm frequently returning to the computer instead of doing work, I'm frequently day-dreaming, I'm frequently awesome :D, I'm frequently.. no I'm not going to make this a painfully long list just to prove my point.
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(13/08/08)"Futility is so attractive to they young, and I had not yet exhausted its possibilities." The story talks about the protagonist's nostalgia for her 'youthful days of unrequited love'.

I forget where I got those lines from. A little bit of googling shows that its from a story called 'Hair Jewellery' in a collection of Margaret Atwood's short stories (Dancing Girls and other Stories). Also found a Scribd i paper version of the book. Which unfortunately was jumbled and I read bits of three stories that started with 'Rape fantasies', on to Hair Jewellery and another unknown one by which time I was very annoyed with Scribd. It was funny how the much the voice of the second story sounded like that of the first one. It was when she told me (the reader) that the only sweater with only one hole she had (she's poor), had that hole because I made it with a cigarette butt, my vague suspicion of two odd paragraphs was confirmed. The earlier one only talked to me as if I were the anonymous reader that I was. Point? There's a reson all these were left unwritten you know!
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(18/03/08)Before all the lovely spring snow interfered, I was working on a post that started off with Amartya Sen's "The Argumentative Indian", intending to talk about what I found mildly disturbing about it and continuing along the same subjects. It unfortunately veered off into murky waters of the shortcomings of our educational system and my reading encounters through school-life (including some silly whining about not being given Baum and Dahl on a silver-platter when I was 11 years old) and ended with excusing my digressions as a means of staying true to the blog's title's claim. And then, I decided it was too much for one post (the joys of complete control) so here I am, trying this time not to stray from the shoddy mental blueprint of this post. I do realize, of course, that with each sentence in this introductory para, I'm championing an increasingly lost cause...

Seriously, whatever.
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(20/06/07)A day in the life of
She had two pillows under her head to facilitate breathing through the night. The symptoms of cold always manifested rather strongly (and frequently) in her and among other irritable things made it a pain to breathe. As it happend on most mornings when she was thus affected, she awoke when, inspite of the elevation, a conscious effort had to be made to breathe. It must have been around 6 or 7 today. She always sensed that there was a gap between waking up and being aware of having woken up. But those few seconds or minutes or sometimes even hours always eluded her and this bothered her in a vague sort of way.

Oh this just sounds like someone else. What was I trying to do?
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(04/12/06) The first one...
...is a major digression, since exams are on in a few days. Nevertheless, as I go off organochemical synthesis of interferon genes, I get to.... shit, I'll leave this 'under construction' right now

:)
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A few excerpts of posts that never got to be a grey-and-purple on my blog. Because I'm desperate to get something on this page but am not able to muster up anything new.

So here's me signing off from a brown velvet armchair in a farm-house in Greater Manchester, that very often reminds me, unbelievably, of home.

Sunday 4 January 2009

I am a published poet :D

Haha, not quite in the way one usually imagines. There is no little slip of a book filled with verses that only the local bookstore has a modest 25 copies of. That's too much to expect. There is but one poem (and probably will remain the only one for a long time now from the looks of it). And it's gotten into the Winter issue of an online publication called The Smoking Poet. I might be able to identify with only half their tag-line (of sorts) "A fine cigar and good literature - two of life's most enduring pleasures", never having had a cigar. But that is immaterial. I take heart from the fact that lots of others whose work is featured seem to be full-time writers who have actual books (of poems or not) to their credit and are generally in print. That gives me some sort of validation I think, cosmetic as it might be. Whatever, yay me! :)  

Click on the title to go to the poem. 


PS happy new year and all that

Monday 8 December 2008

Where do You stand?

Here's what Political Compass thinks:

So from the looks of it I'm clearly on the left, though not too far . Good to know -I was vaguely concerned about straying from the fence while not being sure I wanted to be sitting on it either. Had always refused to properly make up my mind about that somehow.
Have a go at http://www.politicalcompass.org/

Sunday 9 November 2008

Everyday Distractions

Words are clearly not my thing right now. So here's some bits and odds snapped up (mostly) from my phone camera:

Feet first

My shiny Blackwell bag catches light

I turn shades of grey

The Duvet twists

Train mirrors

Even teeth frame the bruise

Window looks at Times Square

Gold


the Headboard looms over filmsy blue pillows

Henna colours

Music travels along with me
the Pinkness comes Next

Light shines through

Thursday 30 October 2008

Cutting right through the Heart

Since I do not have anything to say, I'm putting up something I do. So here is the heart, complete with the blood it was in the process of pumping when 4% PFA* (I assume? Correct me if wrong) put an end to it.



*Para-formaldehyde

Sunday 12 October 2008

What happens in Vegas?

"Bland enough to make millions as culture edges closer to oblivion" says Ian Nathan of the Empire Magazine.

What is it that makes us flock to pay 6.80 quid (or even free on megavideo) to go see two 'beautiful' people kiss in the end?

Is it better/worse if it's free?

I apologize, I need to go. Oblivion awaits :D


PS Oh but don't take me seriously. I'm drunk anyway - not too much, just a little bit. Vegas did it say in the beginning?