Friday, December 11, 2009

Distributed Identities

A few things have happened close to each other that fueled my desire to write on the subject of identity. I happened to read (what I thought to be) an excellent collection of essays and writings on the subject of India by Shashi Tharoor (of Twitter fame) named 'The Elephant, The Tiger and The Cellphone', within which while speaking of Amartya Sen, quoted him as saying the following:
The same person can be, without any contradiction, an American citizen, of Caribbean origin, with African ancestry, a Christian, a liberal, a woman, a vegetarian, a heterosexual, a believer in gay and lesbian rights, a theatre lover, an environmental activist, a tennis fan, a jazz musician, and someone who is deeply committed to the view that there are intelligent beings in outer space with whom it is extremely urgent to talk (preferably in English)'.
It's a powerful way to get his point across, and marvellous food for thought. Tharoor uses it to draw his usual conclusions (nigh banal by the end of the book) about unity in diversity. But it gave me a reason to pause and consider many things.

First, that any breakdown of an individual into how so many ever identities still represents a loss as to who that complete person is. There is always going to be more to an individual than we can express in a set of labels that we seek to have applied to him/her. Second, that a label is often perceived as an ideal type, in that calling someone a Christian represents an image of a Bible reading Church attending kind of guy/gal, which seriously ignores a wide and well populated part of the Christian spectrum. It's essentially a kind of type-casting, as well - tell someone that he/she is *insert label here* often enough, they'll turn into that or turn into the direct opposite. Identities are such nebulous things that we'd be better off without them at all. But it's hard to imagine that ever happening. It's a by-product of our incessant urge to classify.

The most fascinating identities, however, are the ones that we construct around ourselves. Say, one of being an alpha male or a metrosexual. How much of what we like to call ourselves is a product of what we do and feel and recognising that, and how much of it is us moulding our actions so as to suit the label that we want to portray to the outside world? Strong, confident men and women often fall to pieces when the going gets tough. We're all wearing all sorts of absurd masks in an attempt to look better, more moral, sexier, more intelligent, more challenging, more ... whatever we WANT to be, as opposed to what we really are.

What actually caused me to think about this with more vigour than my usual set of random thoughts was what's recently happened in Andhra Pradesh with regard to Telangana. For those not completely in the know, a portion of a state within India is pushing for statehood. They cite no particular reason to consider them to be separate from the rest of the State, as far as I can fathom. I do accept that I probably know very little about this, but I'm not making an argument that's specific to it, but a broader one as a whole.

National identities are both constructed and encouraged by nation states looking to cement the cohesiveness that would strengthen the said nation. As far as I see it, there are some elements that are often used to bind a nation state - language, religion, culture, ethnicity, and a common enemy. In India, we have more languages than can be reasonably counted; the same holds true for religion, as well. Anyone who has travelled through India would know that the culture in the North East is completely different from the Punjabi culture in the north and west (and some would argue that Punjabi culture is no culture at all), and the South is just a whole different ball game. There are more races and identities in India than can be reasonably expected to be brought under any one head, and India earns the 'melting pot' epithet far too well. This leaves the 'common enemy'. And I don't think any rational or reasonable person would want India to need to unite under the banner of hating Pakistan, especially given that they are nuclear neighbours with what has often been only a tenuous control over their emotions and passions which tend to run wild over many things, not in the least cricket matches.

The divisive nature of the many identities existing within the Indian populace (stuff like North-South, this language versus that language, the ever-present and always ugly communalism, etc.) is just absurd. Especially given that a single person can, like Amartya Sen said, be an Indian citizen, or North Indian/Aryan origin, with Persian ancestry, an athiest liberal, a non-vegetarian environmentalist, a heterosexual who believes in the LGBT movement and welcomes the Naz Foundation judgement, a lover of rock music, a fan of science fiction, fantasy and dramatic cinema, an avid watcher of several comic TV shows, a law student with an interest in technology, a debater with an interest in quizzing, and someone who is deeply committed to the view that people should let other people do whatever the fuck they want as long as it doesn't directly affect them. And that is, as you should have guessed, me.

In such a world, and in such a nation - does it make more sense to pick on one of these identities to clash over and demand rights? Or better to find the damn common ground? Well, as long as we can converse in English - my Hindi is, frankly, bollocks.

I'm not particularly patriotic, or patriotic at all - but I do believe that we shouldn't shoot ourselves in the foot.

Friday, October 30, 2009

We've shifted house.

Again.

The good thing about this, of course, is sorting out the books. I'm taking my own sweet time over it, and I love it. There are so many different books, by so many different authors, and they each call out to me. I can't say I've read them all, but I want to - from the incredibly complex ones (like a dream interpretation book my brother left at home) to the racy, thriller sort or the cool Dollar western books.
What's interesting is that ANY good book teaches you something interesting - something you wouldn't know about before picking up that book. It could teach you something about yourself or something about the world. I remember an interesting Star Wars book which was discussing the religious philosophy of a warring alien species - it stated that the gods give us three gifts. The first is life, and is the least of their gifts; it is so that we may experience their works and their power. The second gift they give us is pain - a way for you to know that they exist, and a way for them to tell you their will and what they want of you. Pain is the teacher, the imperative, and the strength of the Gods - their method to communicate. The last gift they give us is Death - their greatest gift, and their freedom from life, and pain.
I don't particularly like life being denigrated so and death being glorified, but I agree with the general assessment of pain. Then, there's Digital Fortress by Dan Brown - it taught me never to put up anything private about blowing things up, because they can always catch you. Not exactly something that sets the gray cell synapses afire, but definitely interesting reading.
I'm reading a James Hadley Chase now - interesting opening, but waiting for it to develop. Some holiday this is turning out to be, in terms of relaxation; but I'm learning a lot, I have Ria, and there is parental bonding. :-)

Life's good.

Sunday, October 11, 2009

Sights, sounds and tastes.

I woke up a few days back with the smell of her. Not 'her', the one I'm with. Not even 'her', the one I was with. But a her from the past. Strange. Not all too far back in those mists, but not someone I'd imagine would have that sort of impact. Just a strange, milky, odd smell that I never could understand. It wasn't particularly attractive to me; but it was what it was. And it was there. As I moved up and quickly got ready for class, the many other smells the hostel provides inundated me; but the memory persisted for the day. Quite strange.

I find it oddly compelling to be caught in the headlights of a vehicle. It happened to me while I was standing at the side of the road, just yesterday. A power cut cast a sudden veil of darkness over everything - and then, to my left against a wall was my shadow, bright, due to a motorcycle coming towards me. As it zoomed by, I saw my shadow move blurrily, slowly change shape and disappear. Just one of those things that made me stop and stare, at the spot where the silhouette had been.

Idiocy seems to be ruling the roost, what with people taking rules to be absolutes and lacking the common sense to use them wisely. It redefines intelligence to impose stupid limitations without reason, especially since the reasons for those limitations are valid ones. But a toe outside the line isn't dangerous - and if you're trying to protect someone, if your function is the safety of someone through such limitations, punishing them for what is not naturally a violation of those things is patently ridiculous. Power isn't meant to be used in that fashion.

Tuesday, September 08, 2009

There are times when I just need to disconnect. The Facebook feed is switched off. And people are no longer watching. At least I hope.

I have spent some good time talking to my roommates, making soup(s) and noodles. And it was incredible fun. There was some studying for tax involved too. (Unbelievers can check my notes. Fuck you all.) But I like such moods. Just a moment to stop and think.

There are so many things I want to be. So many people whose expectations actually mean something to me. And so many goals and targets I want to meet for them. It's love, hate, demand and supply all at once. A nebulous mix of economics and emotion. Who'd have guessed?

I sit here with plans to get to class soon, and all the problems, people and issues I have to face ahead of me. And fuck you all. In the ass. With chainsaws. I am not going to care anymore. It's been too long since I was myself. Someone reminded me of what I used to be. Of the people I used to stand up to. Of how awesome life used to be, for me. I've lost that shit. And I'm going to get it back.

Que sera sera. Being the coolness I want to be from now on forth.

Goodnight.

Sunday, August 23, 2009

Identity


The darkness is a silent and welcome companion. I find myself much happier staying awake at night and doing some light (or, if not at all sleepy, heavy) reading, and love how contemplative I feel in the comforting shroud of the dark. While I love reading and have read much, I must somewhat shamefully admit that a lot of the world of ‘literature’ itself has been alien to me. I have often read some of the classics in truncated children’s versions; and will often pick a fiction book of comedy such as Terry Pratchett over, say, a Milan Kundera. I have, again, read some philosophy – but clearly not enough to honestly be able to say that I have grounding in that, either. Other than Nietzsche, Bertrand Russell, some Foucault, Chomsky, Gramsci and some J.S. Mill, all that I have read has been based on readings for class, or something of that sort. I just pretend to know enough, though I’ve probably gotten more from Wikipedia than actually reading anything.


I like pretensions, though. I have a lot of them. I like coming across as harsh and rude. In many ways, it’s a defence mechanism for having to shift around more often than Salman Rushdie during the fatwa (I only say this after reading a collection of his essays – a must read). As a new person everywhere you go, you swiftly learn that niceness is almost always likened to weakness. I remember a few funny incidents, and besides it being 2:48 AM, I have little reason to not talk about them. I had just shifted to Bombay from Calcutta; I had joined a school in the heart of the city, full of privileged brats. In my Calcutta school, I had been the privileged brat. Friends would gape at the size of my house, and I was perhaps the first student to possess a Nike t-shirt soon after it entered India. Bombay, however, proved to be the undoing of any pretensions I had of being cool. Being in a boy’s school in Calcutta had made me forget about how I looked, which was mostly irrelevant where there were no women to preen yourself for. At the age of 13, I was overweight, wearing glasses that can sympathetically be called ‘geeky’, and was sorely lacking in any kind of social grace. My awareness of pop culture was also coloured through the glasses of my elder brother and my father – I knew of Eric Clapton, adored the Beatles, was beginning to notice Aerosmith, and was smitten by the raw sound of the Guns n’ Roses. Yet, when I was asked if I know who Eminem was, I thought they were referring to the brand of chocolate (‘M & M’s) that I would often see on the covers of the Archie comics I sometimes read and wonder about.


So, the incident was when I pretended to know a little basketball. A new court had just been made in my school in Calcutta. Mom had been nice enough to buy us a plastic backboard, and we hung this from our window facing outwards and played in the driveway of our apartment building. It was nowhere close to being high enough; but I did learn some cool moves from a visiting elder cousin brother who was 6’2” and a state-level player at some point. Sure that I would dazzle the kids when I reached Bombay, even after having played perhaps 4 times before this, I told them that I knew how to play basketball ‘decently’, with an air of confidence I did not feel. That confidence was still in me when a boy named Karan Walia (I think; I’m not entirely sure) decided to divide up teams; he did so by pushing us one way or the other. Piqued at being touched and still buzzing with my false self assurance, I went up to him and pushed him back – and with forced indifference asked him not to take offence, since I’d always push back those who pushed me. When I’d been laughed at, with some “oooohs!” for effect thrown in, the game began; and sure enough, I was pushed down by Karan not long after. I did have a small miracle – I happened to score two three pointers during the game (and never have, since).


***************************

I was discussing one amongst my many embarrassing stories (most involve women, my idiocy, miscommunication and some mishap or the other) and I wondered what I was really like. Most people perceive me a certain way, and it amazes me how varied some of these personas can be. Many see me as rough, rude and abrasive. Most know me to be someone who laughs with others about himself and his own follies. Some are convinced that I am offended when they make fun of me. Others are certain I could take anything they said and make it sound lewd. A few see me as a sensitive ‘emo’ person (especially with this blog). An individual believes I could be gay. Others believe that anyone could believe this to be unbelievable. Friends from Delhi remember me almost always wearing t-shirts and jeans. Friends from college will remember shirts with the folded sleeves. Friends from before law school will remember shoes; friends from after will remember slippers and sandals. If we are as transient as I know we are, then the impression we leave on people is our true legacy. Well, mine’s a jumbled up piece of shit.


Of course, some perceptions are just bizarre. Like a junior being asked if I’m hot when I happen to plan to visit somewhere, and/or opinions of that sort being carried around. Or people thinking that I’m a charmer of some sort, when as far as I can see (and trust me, I have a good view of how I interact, especially with women), cocky is the word that springs to mind – the kind of cocky that would use that word to chortle, and definitely leave far from a wholesome impression on any mind. All this coupled with my lack of belief in any sort of assertion that I flirt, and this leaves me completely befuddled. The cockiness is to hide my lack of confidence. My impressions on people are also reflections – these mould what I am. People laughing at my jokes spur me on to being a funny man. People appreciating an aspect of my character or appearance are promoting it. I feel like a tabula rasa, and I love having that ability to change. It makes me who I am.


So I don’t know who I’ll be tomorrow. But I’ll see you then. I don’t know what you’ll think – but while it might influence me, it might cause me to change something small, don’t forget that it doesn’t matter to me. Blank slates are indifferent to what is written on them; and what’s written can easily be erased. Patterns that have been formed can be grown out of. And probably will. Don’t get used to who I am. I’ll turn around and bite your ass. And when you believe I’m predictable, maybe you’re just setting yourself up for the fall.


Wednesday, August 19, 2009

Blink.

The awkwardness seemed to abate, as they both stood there. Others were talking. There was nothing really there to be said. She turned and left, and after a second of contemplation, so did he. He went on his path, silent - but then, he was always a recluse. Walking alone, and it seemed to fit - walking alone, getting on by. This life suited him. But there was a ringing in his ears, a cacaphony of things that weren't exactly words - or even feelings. Just noises, that wouldn't seem to leave him alone.

A melancholy rose in him like a sickness - a rising tide of absolute disgust as the stupid instrument in his pocket refused his bidding. He needed contact, even though he wanted to be alone - just a strange little conundrum, among his many. He had spent the evening with her, with some others, and they'd all said goodbye - but he'd stayed, silent, on a side. Forgotten, or left out - either possibility didn't really work for him. He needed to get out while he could.

He returned, plastered that little smile, and pretended that things were well. Made small two second plans with friends. Then he retreated into his room, closed the door on the outside world, and watched a movie with his headphones on - reveling and hating his solitude.
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Just a short thing that popped into my head. Not related to anything or anyone, and certainly not my state of mind. :-)

Saturday, August 01, 2009

Comic # 3 - Geek v. Wiki



Wikipedia has far too much information on it, and it's ruined more than a few movies for me because I can't resist reading the plot synopsis. However, with comic books, the allure of Wikipedia goes beyond the implication for movies. Full plotlines, connections, allusions in comic books to events past are all mentioned there with easy access. Conversations online (or otherwise) about comic book based issues are so much easier now for non-readers or not-so-avid readers of comic books that I'm sure several comic book geeks are sulking somewhere about how they can't talk crap and be taken seriously anymore.

Sucks to be them.

Friday, July 31, 2009

Lesson # 1 - Teh Internetz.

So, we're back with Comic # 2, even though it's really Lesson # 1. Though if you were the discerning reader I would hope you were, you'd have noticed that the file name of the last one was "Honest does not work on teh internetz". Which would probably be the first lesson. Except I really can't be bothered.

I know I'm using pretty much the same setup for this comic, but I think it's a valuable lesson. Also, I had another comic lined up, but it isn't really internet related, except that it's based on a quote from Bash. Thought originality should take precedence over chronology.

Hope you guys like this one.

Tuesday, July 28, 2009

Washed Clean


Pristine, pure and frigid streams,
Of change and stasis that seems -
To describe the life of reform,
That must now become my norm.

Early mornings no longer escape,
Attention through heavy drapes,
That hide the lights and sounds,
Of the fucking early birds that abound.

Jarring sounds of helpful devices,
Averting a near certain crisis,
As people scramble to be awake -
There's far too much at stake.

Waiting for the space to arise,
Where we can wash our sleepy eyes,
And trudge the long walk of shame;
Girls of yesteryear are to blame [1]

Hopeful looks at mechanical chariots,
Of fire and pistons for those who buy 'em,
And rush for the fast filling spots,
Except for the haves; the poor have nots.

Entry to the hallowed halls of learning -
Sitting with day dreams, so full o' yearning,
The fires of ambition constantly burning,
But the motivations are always churning.

And finally, being saved by the bell -
This place being a customised, individual hell;
But soon we'll be well qualified to sell
Our services, to save clients from their acts fell.

Innocence dies at the midnight hour,
As for means of intoxication we scour -
Taking sustenance for the coming day,
As the toll for all our tortured minds we pay.

---------------------------------------------------------
[1] - This is hearsay, but was also corroborated. I was told in my first year that the current boys hostel was originally meant to be the girl's hostel, but within a few months those stalwart ladies of yesteryear complained of 'creepy crawlies' and the distance, and the men were forced into a swap we're still cursing. This was corroborated by an old building plan that used to be lying around in the Common Room.

This is pretty much a Law School only thing, at least in my head. But I'm sure a lot of people feel the same way about college in general. What really surprises me is the creeping realisation that many years down the line I'll probably consider this the best time of my life.

Monday, July 27, 2009

A (productive?) use for my time.

This is the first one. I might make more. I'm bored enough.

Random oddities in the Internet Era


The internet era is odd.

I'm online, chatting to someone who is a very close friend I ought to have stayed in touch with more, and Stumble threw up this amazing webcomic series called Last Place Comics.
I'm simultaneously reading Bash quotes online, and am astounded at the amount of funny things that one can find online.

Of course, I do occasionally think that the internet is a bit of a waste. Many have already said so, right? The amazing potential to do incredible things, but Aldous Huxley (in Brave New World, if I remember right) might have been the closest to predicting things when he surmised that in the future we'd all be cowed into submission by being flooded by inane information and base pleasures. Humankind is clearly not a species of the mind.

But when I think about the people from various parts of the world that I can speak to, get in touch with, comfort, start conversations, resolve issues, learn new things, find new sources of awesome, it all seems worthwhile.

Even though Al Gore thinks he invented it, kudos to the internet! :-)

Saturday, July 25, 2009

Monday, July 20, 2009

Wonder

Everytime I stop to think
And look within, trying to understand
The thoughts that go into who I am
Forever breaking away from the plan.

Am I a free spirit, ne'er to be held?
Or just a clumsy and unlucky oaf,
Who suffers times only fell -
These questions never stop,
And step into the inane;
Why must I only write poetry,
When most of my work remains?

There is some irony there,
Or maybe a lot -
I cannot know,
I'm just a dot -
Tiny and without depth,
In a world beyond perspective -
Wishing he was alive in another world,
Where Batman was truly the greatest detective.

So while I play the music in my head -
Yellow sung in Amber's squeaky voice;
I lie awake in my messy bed,
Thinking of the nature of choice.
Absurd as it is, I cannot figure
Why the circlets of silver and gold I treasure;
For they lock me in and mark me out,
Yet emotions mean I can't do without.

In any case, as I've sad 'ere before -
The secret of poetry,
It's very core -
Lies in knowing when it should end -
And yet I've overmade this, as I oft tend.
So without much ado,
I bid adieu -
To you, you, you and you.
--------------------------------------------

Silly whimsical poetry, but it's true - all this only happens when I'm up at night trying to get some damn work done on my bloody project. Mayhaps there is some merit in handwriting projects - Al Gore's 'information superhighway' won't be this temptation that's always around. However, it's good to know that the cell I'm in is now in full capacity, and has a new food cooling unit in it. :-)

Oh, and I've also realised that sketching doesn't happen unless you shouldn't be wanting it to happen. I took the pencils, took a sketchbook, went home for the holidays - and there was NO inspiration. None. And I'm back, without the sketchbook, and I'm making faces on ruled notebooks all day.

Someone has my puppet strings, and is being quite a jerk about it.

PS: Extra points for spotting the really sad pun.

Sunday, July 19, 2009

Pandora


So here we go again, down the same old road to places less travelled. Yes, I'm sure Robert Frost doesn't quite like the rehashing (or as someone else might call it, 'rapeage') of his poetic lines. But frankly my dear, I don't give a damn. Life is too bloody short, isn't it?

I've been through a lot, and there's a lot more to go through - but that's life for you. It doesn't make me special, it doesn't make me anything, it just is. One of those basic facts that can't easily be escaped, however much society might wish it so. I'm deriving some measure of peace from the idea that these are paths and feelings that have previously been traversed, and problems I can solve and deal with just as well.
-------------------------------

PS: I'm on Google suggestions! Don't know how/why that happened. Odd, innit?

EDIT - This made NO sense. :-)

Saturday, July 18, 2009

The End.

Over the rising and setting of many suns,
Many tales that have ended and begun -
Paths crossed and intermingled,
Sparks and stares that always did tingle;

Ideas and dreams that are long gone,
Cleaned away like wisps in a new dawn -
That burns and chases away hope,
While you rub your eyes trying to cope.

This is the end, beautiful friend -
A beginning, a middle, and conclusion that rends
Through the heart of a time
When things were greater and sublime.

Sunday, June 21, 2009

Absurdist Stitch in Time Saves Rhyme

Rolling, scrolling -
Finding meaning - that's boring.
Dreaming and screaming,
Thoughts that are just teeming,
Begging for release.
Seeking the one that sees
Life, for what it truly is -
Madness, and bliss;
Dished in unequal measure.
In small moments we treasure,
And trends that we dread,
Like working in bed -
No rest, no recuperation,
No dealing with temptation;
Just whiling away time,
Writing absurdist rhyme.

Sunday, April 05, 2009

Despair


Everything you thought you had,
Has gone from worse to bad.
Lean to the side, whisper it quiet,
The end is sight,
Workin', all night around the clock.
Everything you thought you had,
Has gone from worse to bad.
Powderfinger, My Kinda Scene
----------------------------------------

Fingers groggily moving to show
This world the thoughts that keep us low
In endearing moments of doubt and pain
Which shall be back tomorrow again
To bring back epiphanies that stain
Consciousness but bring no gain
To the hopes and dreams which refrain
From being reality; my constant bane.

Despair mounts in this witching hour -
The sun fights through to soon tower
Burning all that lies beneath,
Destroying the cool night's shadowy sheath
While the mark upon my head as a wreath
Of thorns that do constantly keep
Me from reaching the arms of slumber
To the hopes and dreams torn asunder
From being reality; a victim of plunder.

The bandits march and think of victory
Mindful of what is soon to be history
The vain stand vanguards defending
Stupidity and ignorance unrelenting
In their attempt to keep preventing
The birthing of hope in minds thinking
That seek to cross thresholds blinking
Watching with eyes unbelieving
The hopes and dreams that need freeing
To become reality; no more deceiving.

On the threshold of love one must always despair
Of the twists and turns that always do wear
Down the resolve that you seek to hold true -
With life and hope, to begin anew
The dreams of being, and hopes of serenity
That, in this life, is the only true divinity.

------------------------------------

Saying yes to life even in its strangest and hardest problems; the will to life rejoicing over its own inexhaustibility even in the very sacrifice of its highest types - this is what I call Dionysian, that is what I understood as the bridge to the psychology of the tragic poet. Not in order to get rid of terror and pity, not in order to purge oneself of a dangerous effect by its vehement discharge, but in order to be oneself the eternal joy of becoming, beyond all terror and pity.
Nietzsche




Saturday, April 04, 2009

V Hates You All.

Degenerates. Filthy scum who pollute the Earth with their pettiness and their disgusting need to fulfil their own base desires. I cannot stand you. I will not stand you. Those of you who choose to put your own selfish, emotional needs before the needs of others, acting unprofessionally to the extent of causing harm to people who are your colleagues. Those of you that see gain in spreading disinformation and stalling matters in an attempt to guide things in the direction in which you would like to see them go, so that you take the options away from those who ought to have it due to your petty incompetence. Those of you who take an innocent gesture to be something that you must express your concern for - though you care not for the person that you're defending. Just the person you wish to crucify.

You disgusting, revolting excuses for humanity - you dregs, you bottom-feeders, you retarded grovellers and haters who pollute this earth with your perfidious presence. You make excuses for all your vile actions, pretend to show reason when all you're doing behind your ugly visages is scheming for reasons that are obvious for anyone with half a brain cell. Your twisted notions of subtlety and your mob mentality with which you avidly seek to destroy the few people who are good around you in your environment. You betray the trusts of those around you with the ease with which others change clothes.

I hate you all.

Wednesday, March 11, 2009

Flying Fuckeroonis, this is REAL madness.

http://www.badassoftheweek.com/quarrelsome.html

Leonidas, eat your heart out.

PS: Love the description. Sounds like how I would have written it.

Wednesday, February 11, 2009

Freedom.


It's been a while. We'll take it slow.
You and me, together; let the music flow.
Day and night, the whispers sound -
"Did you hear? He's back around!"

It's time things were done, issues passed -
Silence is golden, and old thoughts crass.
Fresh steps do beckon, and pastures too -
It's time to be off doing something new.

I lost faith in myself, and my old self withdrew;
Loss of stability, and of grounding no news.
Time to shake off the old, and embrace the dawn,
Be ready to face the bright and early morn.

There was some weight to carry,
And some history too -
But that's done with,
No need to renew
Old ties that bind
And disgrace too
Time to be me
Find happiness,
Too.

Sunday, February 08, 2009

Kill Valentine - for the right bloody reasons.

So, let's be clear about this - I hate Valentine's day. I hate it from the bottom of my heart. For a variety of reasons.


1. I despise the colour pink.
2. The notion of a little winged baby determining my actions through a little bow and arrow is barf-worthy.
3. There's no point to being, well, all lovey-dovey on one particular day because the card companies want it.
4. Why are you letting the women emotionally blackmail you into getting chocolate and flowers?
5. Be a man. Do the right thing.

However, I am a whole-hearted supporter of couple liberty. In other words, I absolutely believe in, and am ready to fight for, the right of a couple to be with each other, hold hands, make out, hug, yadda yadda, without being forced to marry each other. I think this entire idea of catching poor kids out for a walk or some such and leaving them 'married' in your diseased understanding of what constitutes marriage is sick and repulsive.

Hence, inspite of being a vocal opponent of Valentine's Day and nonsense of that order, I am actually inclined towards doing something for it. So, here's the deal - how about suggestions? What should I do for Valentine's day? (something I wouldn't normally do). However, there are some rules - no flowers, no pink, and definitely no undying declarations of love. I'm not into any of that. Anything else in the general spirit of Valentine's Day you can think of? Comment and let me know! You might get ringside seats to me doing said thing, and making a fool of myself.

*Shudders* I HATE VALENTINE'S DAY. But I gotta save it. So I can kill it for the right reasons.