Thursday, April 17, 2008

Universe = my friend

Isn't it weird?

When we are kids, teens, and freshly "in love" for the first time, all we can think of is ahead.
When we are old, mature, in the twenties, old enough to logically consider the ahead, all we can think of is now.
When we are older, more mature, and in the thirties... I'm not there yet, can anyone else fill this in?

When we have happiness in hand, we forget how painful the sadness was.. and when we have sadness, we forget how elevating the happiness was.

When we live with someone, we yearn for the chance to live alone. When we live alone, we yearn for the chance to not eat standing at the sink, alone.

Isn't it weird. How the universe turns things for you at every angle? If it wouldn't be like that, it would probably be very boring and non-crazy.

And I can't do non-crazy. I need spontaneity and crazy to live by. Yea, I think the universe is my friend after all.

Saturday, April 12, 2008

My shot at soulmates...

There was a time when each post had a bit of you in it. When fights, fun, smiles, laughter, anger, possibilities, hopes, crying, cribbing, whining, sleeping, would be shared with you. It seemed right.

You are my missed chance.
The one random thing that can pull me out and plunge me in.

You are at a distance now. A distance I drew. But we are good. And we will always be good, no matter how. Because we both are each others impossible, but beautiful lives.

Friday, April 11, 2008

Magic and craziness

There's some magic in lying down on the curb, of a highway, at 2 am and looking up to gaze at a thick, cloudy, starless sky. Just because.

And there's some magic in walking across a small-ish flower bereft park, at 1:25 am, and suddenly looking down to see a small pot of fresh flowers and a brass plaque saying, "Florence Dorsey, 77 Elm Street", under an unexpected star studded and bare branches screened sky.

There's a lot of magic out there in the world. You just need the craziness to be able to explore it.

Monday, April 07, 2008

The anonymous troll who slept with my blog

Is that taking it to far? Ah, well, ok then. This troll definitely wants to take things further with this blog. Troll hates to love this blog, and loves to hate it. But can't get enough of it either way. So here is ~dream theatre~'s inner monologue. This side of the line.

"I know this troll is taking things further. But isn't it too soon? Ah.. the trials and tribunals of courting. We have so many things common. Anonymous Troll and me. I, being a blog have no gender really, so does Troll. Troll, being anonymous and bitchy does not have a gender too you know. So many similarities, yet Troll complains that my love is selfish. That all I think about is me, and my creator, of course.

So here Troll, is this post for you. To show you my love. You stalk me so much, oh I find that flattering don't worry, you leave me little notes. Have something to say for everything I say, and you get so agitated when someone else leaves me notes, expresses interest and admiration for me. Ah, possessive love.
I have too many admirers you see, and even if they remain silent, their love for me is just so obvious that it pains Anonymous Troll.

Yea, Troll has a little bit of a problem with using abusive languages. But everyone has their little flaws right? Well, Troll and me might have had few personal interactions, which obviously I did not record too well, but that is hinted at so beautifully in the little notes. You notice that's why I am addressing you only by your last name or your full name.

My friends seem to be accepting Troll too. See they are trying to bring you out. Troll, I promise you the second anonymous note, oh that wasn't competition. Only, Dhum, a guy. So you have nothing to worry about. You see, he has an identity, expresses his thoughts with his identity and is a guy!! So, nothing to worry about.

But taking this further seems to be rushing things. You see I am only 2 years and 4 months old, and I think our first communication was in mid-october sometime only. Its just been 5 months since we know each other! Taking the step (while I write this my poor blog eyebrows, the header, has gone way up, last the toolbar even!), it's a little too soon for my immature self.

But our little affair will continue I know. I know you are loving my friends, and that you are following me everytime, every step, all the way. So it looks like we will have a long relationship. And I dont think you will ever that courage thing that my creator fumes about, so I am sure our similarites will continue too.

Here's to a long, hide-y, and beautiful relationship that we have. Meanwhile, please dont get distracted and concentrate your spewed delicate words on my friend. It's me you love, stalk, and vent out on, remember?"

Sunday, April 06, 2008

Meeting Meat..

My family is strictly vegetarian. No meat, no fish, no eggs. This, by religious affiliation. I, on the other hand, being as completely non-religious that I am, should by default not be vegetarian. But I am. For the simple reason that eating something that once pissed, shat and carried out all those weird bodily functions grosses me out. Hence I have always been more or less okay with eggs. Eggs don't piss, shit, bleed right. And I try to forget that they are the animal equivalent of fetuses when I have to have them.

But I had always believed that when I did, by mistake/chance/fate, unknowingly, eat meat, I would freak out. I would do all that that my strictly vegetarian friends do, puke, gag, force-throw up or not be able to eat further.

Today I had meat. Unknowingly, by mistake. Not mine, the waitress'. I asked her for Pasta Fettuccine, without Panchetta, or pork. I specified that I don't eat meat, or fish. She said she would exclude the meat. And then included beef in the recipe. God knows why.

When she came with out orders, I asked her if mine was no meat, she replied in the affirmative.
I had a bit of what looked like a miniature corn on cob and could not quite place its taste. I asked Petrovski to try it. He laughed out loud after trying it. And then declared,

"Its Beef."


I dint throw-up, or dint feel like throwing up too. It was no big deal. I had something I did not want to have. I returned it, and waited for the replacement to re-return. While Pinki got pissed with the error, I thought over it. Friends in the background assured me that it was unknowingly consumed, so it was not a big deal. It was a mistake after all.

It wasn't a big deal for me. At all. I would probably have reacted a little more aggresively had there been tomatoes in my dish. But even that has toned down quite a bit. I realized that I am completely dis-jointed from the religious sacrilege, that little bit of beef put me into. In my past job, I watched the chef mince beef all day, every day. I watched while chicken was grilled and chopped and prawns were sautéed. And then I washed those vessels. And at the end of the day, if I could wash my hands off it all, I was ok.

And I thought, You go girl!! I love the fact that I dint throw a tantrum, dint spout hare ram, hare rams or beg for forgiveness from some imaginary force. I asked myself it mattered that much, and it dint. And the incident floated by. No one's mood got spoilt by it, no one's appetite got spoilt by it and I dint behave like a typical sissy.

I have come to terms with the fact that my beliefs are more important than the religious beliefs in the entire world, and that even if I have not found my crutch to lean on, I have a rock solid belief system. The balance of which is not teetered by incidents like these.

No apologies, and no misgivings.

Thursday, April 03, 2008

How long?

It's always a random conversation on the phone with a random person that dashes my dreams. And everytime my dreams have been dashed, I have wondered when will that final stroke come. Which will crash and burn my dreams. Which will remove me of this childish attachment I have to my dreams. And they crashed today, and they will burn till the fire reaches exhaustion.

I used to dream a lot. Every stranger on the road could be a dream, every obtuse comment could be a dream, and if I had known you for more than 5 minutes, you would definitely have featured sometime in my dream. Now I just know that those dreams will have no more value in my life.

Because how long can someone keep believing in second chances? And how many second chances are there in life?

How many times can you take the whip on your back? When every whip diminishes your self worth by chunks. When you finally start rebuilding a soft, vulnerable version of your self worth up again, that final blow can kill it forever.

For how long can you stand on the sidewalk and just try and concentrate on the footfalls that you hear, and block each and every killing thought our of your head?
For how long can you block the world out.. just so that you can forget that anything apart from this microcosm that is you, your body and your brain exist?
For how long can you look at nothingness, blankly, and feel that twinkle in your die, a slow painful death every realization that the brain draws on?
For how long can you be stuck in this weird position where you know that the million things happening to you at that instant? are killing you inside, but somehow, tears cannot be contemplated even.
How much more time, before the poison from the eyes spread to being, and kills it too, completely, slowly and painfully?

For how long can you survive on a staple diet of lies that are fed to you?

For how long exactly can you wait, for that phonecall of truth?

And how long then will it take me to stop believing that its all those little white lies I indulged in as a child that are coming back to me, triple fold, now?

There'll be changes on this blog soon.. the word dream is crawling under my skin, creeping me out. No more.