Fealdamar

Of rocks and time capsules.

2011-09-02T19:33:00.000+05:30

It is quite mellowing to see that a large chunk of the posts prior to this one begin with the idea or the sentence that goes like so: "I should post here more often."
However, with the highs and lows of college life tugging at the hands of my life-o-clock, I believe that is a futile goal to look forward to. Instead, I will turn to the old times of '04-'08 (perfect times they were not, to be honest, but they were damn near close to good) and muse on my pointless outbursts both poetic and prosaic on these hallowed... HTMLs.
Perhaps it does me some good indeed to return to these pages, for I fear a cycle that ended sometime ago will begin anew in a few more days. Perhaps it is unjust to find solace in the arms of someone whom I have never invited to my house for a cup of coffee (what is the procedure to invite a bunch of code hosted online for a cup of coffee at your house? Surely, there is a connection here to Java, am I right?), yet I believe that Fealdamar is the rock. Perhaps not a Casterly one, but definitely a grounded boulder favoured by donkeys and ogres alike!
For all I know, as the road leads through many woods and lands unknown, this little corner of the internet shall remain mine and will be a camp where I can rest and recover my strength over bread, butter and a bit of ink.
Dear Fealdamar, you are a rock, you are a stone.

OH LOOK 6 years old!

2010-10-18T17:07:00.000+05:30

If LD hadn't told me, I would've forgotten all about it.
Happy Birthday Fealdamar! :D
And that's that - making up for a huge number of unposted posts.

A Villanelle of Lost Times

2010-05-14T19:12:00.001+05:30

I believe my talents faded away yesteryear.
With coded lines and an electronic wave-
It’s been far too long since I wrote, I fear.

Looking back on amber trees that stood austere,
Carven words and mellow sounds are what I crave.
I believe my talents faded away yesteryear.

Tin can sounds with gimmicks filled my ear-
Thus they pushed my Words away, though they didn’t deprave
It’s been far too long since I wrote, I fear.

A medium with restriction quite queer
Enlisted my skills as an apologetic knave
I believe my talents faded away yesteryear.

Dastardly yet courageous, a newfound premier-
Became my master, and for a while I, its slave
It’s been far too long since I wrote, I fear.

‘Twill be a while before I sit down to revere
And force my belief to sit down and behave
I believe my talents faded away yesteryear.
It’s been far too long since I wrote, I fear.

Two Decades

2010-04-11T21:18:00.001+05:30

That is the amount of my existence on this planet. Twenty times it has gone around Sol with me sitting on top with a wide CheshireCatGrin on my face. There have been times when the grin was not present, but it mostly existed and for a time things were nice.

It has been a worthwhile time – existing and working around it. I made some plans back when I was nimbly nineteen about this year – and for the most part it had been quite a likeable year. It had its ups and downs but it had a great many moments I cherish now and would like to get back to them again and again no matter what the circumstances.

I completed two of Something Else when I was nineteen. I achieved two out of four things that I had thought about to fulfill my materialistic existence. I started earning and am quite proud of it (why shouldn’t I?)

So it is indeed with hope, (Hope!) that I embark on this Journey,
As Sojourner and Compatriot
And many more titles will be bestowed
As I leave the portals of teenage and into a New Dawn.

And if you guessed the games some of the words are from, you get to see cookies! Happy Birthday to me!

Hello wishmaster

2010-03-15T22:43:00.001+05:30

Wishes are like dishes. They need doing.

Once you get over that horrid sentence that has been playing over my head, might I remind you that this place holds memories of mine that no other genuine collective offline does? For the most part, I have chronicled mostly everything (and some nothings) here and even with its infrequent updates Fealdamar will not go down anytime soon.

But don’t take my word for it.

College, that immovable spire of civilization after a long and dusty cattle trail, is about as green and yellow as it ever was. Forgive me if my words are colour-deficit, but work and study and work and gaming have taken my descriptive prowess completely off me – at least where fictional descriptions are concerned. Make me describe a living person that I dislike a lot (or conversely like a lot), however I can prattle on to no end. Take for instance...OHNOES

Twitter has become my new office while the [\refer to shameless plug below/] has become my penthouse. I believe I speak like a broken record – yet everytime I try to write something the only thing I repeat are what I do for the most part, and where I do what I do for the most part, mostly. It is sad that most of my writing skills have been taken over by a hunger for success – something I might regret later on.

And this is pretty much why this blog is still awake and functioning, sending bytes of data to the poor wary Wanderer, or the occasional spider, who walks into these portals.

And I’m a believer of this impromptu haiku

Work for money spent
Write for beautiful feeling
Both can survive.

Hello there, nice to meet you.

2009-12-30T16:22:00.003+05:30

Listening to my own mind a few days ago, I realised that it had been at least three to four months since I wrote a story. By that I mean a story I looked at and was happy. It comes as no surprise to me thus that my skills with the English language have been falling and that my literary ventures have always been stopped by some seemingly unknown, yet frightfully corporeal factor - laziness.

'Tis a guilty pleasure, indeed. I have known no other time of my life when I had so much to do and yet I passed away most of this time being busy with absolutely nothing.
This particular facet was best enhanced when an old teacher of mine took a new class on soft skills development and taught us time management. He told us of this Quadrant of Waste where we busy ourselves doing absolutely nothing of note.

I did a couple of things of note, now and then, but in effect there was (and still is) a void that yet remains to be filled. Is it the void of not posting to my dear confidante, with or without a mask, or is it something else, altogether? Perhaps if I return to regular blogging, I might get to know one fine day. But torn in bits between this one and another, I do not know.

The year comes to an end - the dull aching that 2009 left behind seems to have lifted off the start of a new decade. The second millennium enters its teens after three more years - but knowing how puberty sets around these years, I would not be surprised if the forthcoming year turns out to be precocious while being worryingly immature.

Suffice to say that I will have left my teenage far behind and will most likely have set in the rhythm of a now-familiar life.

This past year has also been quite the teacher, teaching me everything from the basics of writing to the advanced intricacies of handling situations I previously thought went above and beyond anything that I could ever have done. Funnily enough, I can say the same about a number of people I know - as they all look up to a different, if not difficult, future. But what mysteries will 2010 hold? I have no idea.

But I am brimming with ideas and a single resolution - I will not let 2010 go to waste. Not my 31,556,926 seconds. No sir, not one bit.

Number 5

2009-10-18T11:03:00.000+05:30

Happy Birthday, Fealdamar!

It's been ages.

2009-09-30T20:59:00.003+05:30

Indeed it has been ages since I last blogged. The tumultuous time spent in the interim has been anything but normal. For starters, I embarked upon a small project to earn enough to buy this shortly after my last post. End result: I got that and more!

Just today, LD and I were discussing the decline of the personal blogger-blog in its entirety - she was sniffling at the decline of her blog within two years, while I, four. What led to the entire decline, was the question that cropped up, and she eloquently put it as this: (not her exact words)
"We aren't angsty or angry enough to blog..."
To a large extent, this is frightfully accurate (She had quoted some other things which approached near 100% correctness, which sadly I cannot quote for many reasons, primarily the backlash that I would get from other wanderers to whom it would almost always apply). I can very well pick up, at random, some post that was inspired by wanderlust of - at times anger, angst and/or some other thing. There are, of course, several exceptions, however since my anti-embarrassment signal system prevented me from linking to suggested random angry/angsty posts, my conscience would obviously hinder me from linking to suggested exceptions.

Nevertheless, there have been quite a few suggestions, questions and ideas that have bubbled up in my head or the heads of my friends. Though they popped before they surfaced, they kept my mind active. I was thinking about stopping Fealdamar's posts for quite a long time - probably forever since I have another blog hosted on a custom domain now, for public work-related image - now I know that this is my home, no matter what. Fealdamar has been my alt for quite a long time, and it is nearing its fifth birthday in a few more days. Ah, now you think I blogged just so I could bump it up and ensure people look around on the fateful birthday, however that is not my reason (although, right now, it seems like a very good way!). I just want to thank you, Fealdamar, and the people who support it heartily for keeping it alive and well for as long as it has been around. So thanks to you, there will be more posts! And well, it will be like old times (I hope) and there'll be drinks around (mead or beer) and we shall have a gay (HAPPY) time!

That's that. Now I'll get back to trolling some angsty blogs and laughing at them.

Yesterday

2009-05-16T09:35:00.001+05:30

Was such an <i>awesome</i> Electrical Storm.
Yeah and I was swingin' to the music in a place called Vertigo!

The rains are like aftershave

2009-05-11T20:24:00.001+05:30

Leaving a scent of midwinter mixed with a heady hues of the crazy
concoction that is autumn wind, the rain trails its own path down to my
mind.
It is soft, refreshing and reminds me of bleak and beautiful afternoons
spent with Darjeeling on a cup and a hollow notebook by my sides, chewing
on an unspent pen.

The verandah would fill with water in a personal puddle as I watched
through a CCD's eyes.
Even then the heightened sense of anticipation in the soft wind and
fluctuating temperatures temper my own mind as they do now. It is as I say,
an aftershave. All the grind and rugged jagged hills of heat that gather
sweat and dust are cleared and sweetened - though mere gathering pores now.

I love the rain.

The Garrison

2009-04-26T18:05:00.004+05:30

Another one of those DJB works. This one was pure fun to write!

Scenario: A huge allied base is on fire and a Jedi is on it. I, being the awesome Dark Jedi, have to do an S&R or an S&D for survivors or the Jedi respectively.

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

The thick smoke rising from the garrison was awful and I could see my soldiers’ minds urging to cough through their helmets. Showy bastards. I was not doing anything of that sort and I did not even have a helmet. The sergeant was shouting orders through his helmet, trying to add a measure of the immediate atmosphere’s charm – he was breathing heavily.

“Stay frosty, men.” He said, trying to get an ironical pun out of his way and into the minds of the poor buggers of his squad. I cannot imagine anything dumber than this when we are going to perform an ‘impromptu multi-role assault/rescue/recon operation’ on a base that was on fire.
And they call me to help them out.

“Stay frosty, men.” – He continued - “The area inside is heavily damaged, and IR reports say that visibility is low.” Good going, sergeant! I did not know that!
“Erner, you take point; Wesnell and lot, you cover the general. The rest, follow me.”
Wesnell, that corporal. I hated him. For the record, I hate anyone without a sense of intelligence that, if not flooding their eyes, should at least reach the level of their mouths.
He smiled back at me and I gave him the old Dark Jedi icy stare. I also summoned the best vile voice I could find (it was a Noghri’s) and blasted it across to him.
‘You lead, corporal. You will need someone to back you up.’ The extra emphasis sent a shiver down his spine that could have, with certain limitations, sent an electromagnetic wave all the way to Codei without losses! How absolutely scared is that?!
“Y…yes sir, general. Sir.” He stammered. Moments like these make me wish I had my throat intact so that I could laugh at the victims’ faces. Yet, I needed him. He was still a decent leader. Ambitious about many things (including the sergeant’s wife) but capable of delivering too (except, I suspect, with the sergeant’s wife).

Erner went inside. I tracked him around with my mind’s eye. It was actually fascinating to see his form in bright yellow being swallowed up by the fiery lower level. The flames licked his sides cautiously, as if to taste him. Eventually the tongues grew into a gaping mouth and swallowed him whole. The blazing inferno outside dug itself into my eye and I lost track of him.

Turns out he was literally swallowed by the flames.
“Erner? Erner! Can you read me?” Sergeant Tesin searched for a futile explanation for Erner’s silence. The flames burned louder than the static and I decided to break the news to comfort the sergeant.

“Dammit man! He was a good and evasive soldier! The burning embers could not have got him. Something else is there.” He looked to have lost his cool. I charmed him completely by volunteering to lead the lot. My [to them, as well to some others] godly powers could help them out. The splitting up plan was avoided, and we went in as one.

--

Once we did enter, though, I regretted volunteering for it and immediately called for one of their multi-role helmets.
I regretted that decision too. The heated, suffocating apparel was not protecting my body from the infernal rain of heat that was pouring through the entire assembled structure. I knew now why the sergeant was hissing and breathing heavily whenever he talked through it. The filtered and converted oxygen that was spewing from two tubes near my cheeks only added to the nauseating miasma that surrounded my body.
All it did was save me from an extra chore of regulating my breath. The HUD was basic, for the Force told me more. (The HUD, for example, could not tell me if lance-corporal Retora was evading the thick carbon-spewing chunks of melted metal by way of selfish body-protection or because he was interested in Wesnell and was merely showing off.)

It did not matter because we reached the body of Erner. Great globules of pus marked his inflated face, and his neck was expanding at an alarming rate. A large metal piece lay dented near his face. A quick search revealed a sharp hole in his helmet; and a quicker research showed that the air in this level was quite toxic.
I made that fact known to the men. A collective, inaudible gasp filled the crackling space around them. They immediately checked the straps on their helmets.

Through their HUD’s, they could see the strewn bodies of poisoned men as they walked. It seemed like they had suffered acutely before giving way to the cold and calm of death. I saw the lot of them choking without voices, like a sepia-clad movie being played backwards. They dislodged their hands from their necks and started running backwards, before getting back to their jobs. The ventilators were obviously the source, as the lance-corporal pointed out. I let a bubble of consciousness swell. No life on the second level. None on the third. Nothing yet on the fifth or the sixth or the hangar or wait!
Something moved. Too far away for me to resolve, though. I asked for a map of this prefab garrison. Poor question, I realised. Wesnell looked at Retora, who looked at a private, who looked at the sergeant. He was busy looking elsewhere, so I let a good natured choke arrest his throat for a moment. He coughed violently (to my utter surprise!) and looked at me.

‘Map, sergeant?’

“I am afraid we don’t have one sir! There was this one man who knew the base’s nook and cranny by heart.” Tesin pompously declared. The edginess at being addressed by a ethereal voice had almost disappeared.

‘Who is…?’

“Unfortunately, Erner, sir.”

I sighed.
‘Do you at least know the easiest way to go up?’

Wesnell answered. A quick nod of the head and a finger pointing towards a lift. It was, naturally, in a state of metallic ‘tatters’. These on-the-field-never-been-to-a-prefab-base men were absolutely useless on such a mission. I was useful because I knew Force rituals by heart instead.
A short burst of concentration told me that the moving figure had descended away from our current position. He was a blip on my mental radar, basically… and he had sprouted wings.

‘Nevermind.’

The blip shrouded away from my Sight and erratically moved about the hangar and the sixth levels. Funnily, those were the fire-infested ones. Sergeant thought it was decidedly funny. His mind summoned a charming picture of a heroic man with a body-mounted fire extinguisher gushing fire-extinguishing substance to extinguish the fire about him. Heroically, that is.
I shook my head mildly before shoving that image away from my mental HUD. Thought spam was a piss-off.

Wesnell suddenly piped up, and to get a one-up on the sergeant, hurriedly spoke a lot of gibberish. It amounted to the receding garrison personnel sighting a lighted ball of a couple of humanoids crashing across the sloping walls of the dead building. (Clarified by the much experienced sergeant, to the utter shame of Wesnell.)
My radar told me the blip was on the walls. Clichéd, but reality is like that, I simplified.

‘Move out, men. There is nothing else here but death and its lovely, ardent and seductive scent.’
They moved out immediately.

--

It was a Force User! How brilliant! I saw the vibrant coils of the Force engulf him to the extent of becoming a cloak over him, something like my own tendrils (The difference lies in the fact that my cloak billows). Also, did I forget to mention the crazy-looking Yuuzhan Vong? I did.

It was a Slayer, said Retora (The Lance-corporal was faster than me with the datapad). But it was fascinating to see the fight between the Jedi and the Vong. He was also speaking its language, and the tumbling and slapping and the punching at once reminded me of something spoiled.
‘Kink—’ I began and stopped myself. I added a refreshing tinge of distortion to the end of it in a hurried attempt to stop my innards being plainly in sight of the lowly men.

No one looked, thankfully. They were mesmerised by the show of grit, agony and …yearning for victory that was shown by the two humanoids.

I was not mesmerised due to that, however.
ANYWAY
They stopped fighting abruptly when I heard the man talk to the Vong. Unhurried, smooth words came out his voice, as if straight from a book. He was pointing at me (at which point I shrunk, or wanted to) and the Vong followed the lightsaber’s gaze. He controlled the beast! Bloody Palatinian!

My men prepped their weapons, but it was absolutely useless. I directed Wesnell to call for backup, preferably Oberst (hopeless move, I knew, therefore I added the clause ‘or someone’ to the order). As he hastily spoke through his helmet, I strode up to the uneasy allies and showed my lightsaber. The silver, scholarly hilt suited my pale hands. I reached out to him through the Force, and bellowed.

‘You controlled the beast! You bloody Palatinian!’

“What?” He spoke, mildly. I immediately reprogrammed my tendrils and assessed the situation before widening my eyes. He was a light Jedi! I mumbled something awkwardly apologetically about Clan tradition and whatnot before he pounced on me.

Figuratively, of course.

I dodged his attack inelegantly and his pet pounced. This one was literal. I ignited my blade and kept it perpendicular to its trajectory. The silly bugger fell straight into it and my triumphant grin already primed itself to form on my face. Yet, with a lowly crackle, my lightsaber compressed a mechanical energy onto my fingers, as if the shaft of light was made of rubber. I vainly pushed at the Vong, and we both repelled each other in a soft thud of sound.
I fell onto the ground and finally those bastards opened fire. The alien was impervious to the blaster bolts, but not to my lightsaber, I knew. I let a blast of deep-throated power roar across to the Vong. It excited the air around it as it flowed, creating an illusory ‘ball of air’ before it hit the beast squarely at his neck.
I wanted to shout “Gotcha!” with triumph and glee. Damn the menacing aura that I had to maintain.

The Jedi attacked in my reverie, and his ally’s agony. His saber whirred around with extravagance few I had battled with had. Perhaps Saitou could have matched the man’s display. I could not.

It served as a reminder of practice. The blasters around me paled in comparison to the radiance of his lightsaber. Perchance it was my own psyche, threatening to collapse under the dual strain of fear and admiration.

“Typical Sith. Scared cowards.” He roared and beckoned his mate (I use the word solely to mean camaraderie) [His men are yours]. I tried to think not of the literal consequence of the words as he pressed his advantage.

I created many more globules of kinetic flow, drinking deeply and thirstily at my well of power. He dodged many, and dissipated more and kept coming at me. He was good.
Through the alarmingly accelerating fight, I felt emotions overflow from his mind – a girl’s image and a really scary picture of an old man.
I let the old man’s picture stay where it was, gingerly patting it to remain nice. His girlfriend’s picture, although, was fertile ground.

She went careening into the midst of a black hole in his eyes, screaming “help me, love! Help me!”. Granted, it was cheesy, but for a moment, the man stopped.
I was awesome with my illusions.

I backed away to my soldiers, my eyes not wavering from the Jedi. (He recovered remarkably well.) When I looked back, it was only the three people I have mentioned (except the private, and Erner, of course) who were gallantly fighting off the beast.

Wesnel shouted, “ETA of reinforcements – 2 minutes, general!” Too long. I scowled, analysing the situation with breathtaking speed.

I whispered to the air around the beast, coaxing it to follow the rhythms I was creating. They responded speedily. Within moments, the bulking warrior was covered with a sheen of rotating darkness. For a few seconds, he was out of the fray. I focused my remaining prowess at the Jedi. He frowned at the displayed power and rocketed towards me. My men fired at him. Blaster bolts bawled towards him, where they were harmlessly dispatched. My purple lightsaber was ready.
I opened myself completely to the Force, letting the control of the whirlwind fade from me. The length and breadth of the arena responded to my call as I inhaled and waited.

The dust responded by making me involuntarily jump aside, breaking my brittle ankle. My agony-filled scream was drowned by a screech of laser-cannon against air. I saw Defenders hurl out of the dark air towards the Jedi. He bellowed a curse, and erected a barrier of energy around him, violently dissipating two cannon-shots before he dodged away. He was good. His lightsaber managed to repel another shot, though the grip itself seemed to be unstable and he let another howl of frustration pierce through the screeches.

They reminded me of his friend
I looked back to see the Vong being crushed by the mighty cannons.
A heap of stocky black was all that remained, and Tesin limped away from the body along with the others. He was pleased, I guessed.

I looked up at the TIE/D’s. Oberst had sent them early, how untypical! (Later, I realised my apprentice, the squadron commander, had ordered his squadron to leave early. He would also be suspended for rash behaviour, and unnatural attachment.) They were still zooming around the air, trying to nail the Jedi scum. Yet, he was nowhere in sight.

Sonuvabitch disappeared. Typical Jedi.
My ankle was being foolishly painful. I called for help, and gave a thank-you message to my apprentice flying above. Mission blearily accomplished.

2009-04-11T15:31:00.000+05:30

Can someone write a nice "Happy Birthday to me" post for me? Please?

Love thy Enemy.

2009-03-19T19:55:00.002+05:30

Tristania and Edgar Allan Poe do a lot of things to you.

Shadows fall upon my arms-
Through winter night;
With crimson vanguards pouring-
From you...

I break thy sheltered bones across-!
Arcing Silver;
Passing through sirene expanse-
Thy Crystal vase.

A walk across the hinterland.
Perhaps moonshine would wash away
All the cruent and the black
Wanton fingers buried within...
They tristan vale.

Of astronomy, college and other random madness[es]

2009-03-05T19:01:00.003+05:30

So, after what seems like a decadent decade, I am BACK on Blogger. I hope you children have been checking out my Tumblr often, since I update there more than anywhere else. But, as I promised, I shan't leave this Fealdamar untended. And so here I am, back with a full-featured post.

So in accordance with the International Year of Astronomy 2009, Dr. Debiprasad Duari gave quite the lecture in the college premesis. Although it did start of with the most dull of all introductory speeches, (courtesy dear old HPM, HoD Physics dept.) it started off with a bang with the jam-packed auditorium abuzz with interested chatter when Dr. Duari's credentials were spelled out.
Once Dr. Duari started off, though, the silence was palpable, and his jovial and friendly voice and powerful and commanding speech mesmerised us all. As he took us on a journey from Galileo of Galilei to the Chandrayaan II future mission, we were enthralled.

Everytime he mentioned something I knew, my chest swelled I tell you. Amazing and breathtaking was all I could call this seminar. Two thumbs up!

Tumblr project.

2009-02-08T08:48:00.002+05:30

So considering how little I *do* post here, I have made up my mind to shift my 'portal' of the web to this here little place. Don't worry; the blogger Fealdamar will continue to live, but the Tumblr will be updated often with short posts - photos, RSS feeds etc.

Do check it out!

2009-01-28T20:52:00.001+05:30

I'm telling you, I need to start a new blog that I maintain about my telescope and my observations.

I suck at not being a procrastinator.

Darkness' Queen

2009-01-23T20:18:00.001+05:30

Slowly She prowls towards me.
Begging, weak- I am.
In a moment I am hers.

I suck at poetry. Haiku especially.

150 years of saying AMDG

2009-01-21T21:46:00.002+05:30

How it went past me, I could never understand. A few laughs initially; the usual slanging-left-and-right and the entire riot of jeering when this rather [in]famous teacher walks by with his [very pretty] [hopefully not] fiance {who is waaaay out of his league}, wearing green tinted glasses, it takes you back to your days. And there, it was gone by me as I laughed and jeered with my juniors, laughing at RS' expense - who would never know!

However, truth to be said, I was never a Xavier's fan; my school days being marred by conflict both external and internal. That said, with most elements of conflict practically gone, in retrospect I start liking the thought of dear old SXCS.
Catching up on the conversations with old friends, meeting dear old teachers, and of course Introductions {with Conclusions}, and Non-Introductions ... with better Conclusions.

Teachers, especially were quite the small-talkers, RB taking the prize as a very good remembrance-collector, watching over the entire flock like the hawk that she is, while SSi, looking as herself as ever spoke in her characteristic mellow.

And people - all wily; and booze - all costly. Too much to bear, I set out with a dear friend- off to lose myself to Park Street, and its blinds.

Oxford teaches us fonts, as we patiently talk while turning pages of Calligraphy, clarity pushing our brains after vodka, chocolate, and a submarine.

And as we waited for the end of the day, the lights dimmed and shadows fell, wreathing the day in the beauty of it all.

Happy 150, Xavier's. Cheers.

2009-01-19T21:07:00.003+05:30

What happens when you put together four friends, 3.5 hours of nothing-to-do-ness, a college with no means of entertainment (except the obvious!) and the placement of such an institute in the middle of a road full of villages?

A walk! Oh yes. We, (SSh, JR, SC and I) all decided to go walking... to nowhere. Green, gleaming meadows with the peace and noise attached with the settlements and villages.
Cattle eating the grass that grew at the edge of a steep ridge; men walking and cycling to their farms; wives walking their girls to school.

The plethora of visual information, assisted by the unnatural quiet found at ten AM in these places suggested a different world.

While my friends pointed at the various sights, I was lost in the colour of this world - my world.

I just needed a little more greenery, didn't I?

So does Fealdamar.

The first post of the new year.

2009-01-06T10:30:00.002+05:30

Happy New Year, Fealdamarians.

Of course, it's late. Your absent ruler has been busy with gaming and loving. It's been a while, but days like today force you to look out the window and tell you that you need to write. Write a long and lengthy and long story about a maiden whose beauty is enshrined to you, and no one else. For all I care, I can only explain it in terms of a long gaming bout. Or, for that matter a long telephone call.

New years was celebrated back in Durgapur. Nightclub dancers and drink. I did not get to experience either. (The dancers were hags in skimpy clothes.) Not that it matters much.
In a sense, yesterday was new years. Out by Pam's (whose waitress[es] hate me) with a girl, I think last evening was spent well, not to talk about the afternoon.
And the entire first week will be spent well, I am hoping. Durgapur was amazing. Now, college should be the diametric opposite.

For now, I will be concealed by the precious angel-lore of winter nights. Wanderlust and soul-songs will be forthcoming. Don't worry.

{The reference here is Tristania}

Of boredom. Part something.

2008-12-22T11:40:00.007+05:30

I have never been so bored in my entire life. Trust me. Never ever. Therefore, this shall be yet another photopost.

Some of these pictures have been taken in the most awkwardest of positions and have come out pretty well.

The diyas on Karthigai day.

Another one on Karthigai.

This little friendly moth attacked my jeans on Electronics test day. I am quite surprised at how well this picture has come out (especially since we were on a rickety van-rickshaw)

A radared picture. This one was taken while going to Howrah station at 5:30 in the morning. LD said that the smoke makes the picture move :)!

And finally, egg art, on the Coalfield express.

My very very nicely decorated second cupboard

2008-11-28T10:03:00.001+05:30

Alright, they aren't awesome poster prints or anything and also because of
severe lack of poster-estate, they are just coloured A4 prints.
Plus, my primary cupboard space is full of chocolate wrappers so this.
Also because I should be studying.

Special mention and tag-immunity for the next tag I come across for anyone
who identifies all four pictures correctly!

I GOT INTREPID!

2008-11-27T08:48:00.003+05:30

Yes I did.

Oh yes. Ubuntu 8.10 (Intrepid Ibex) is all mine now! Got it by post just now.

Yes. The stickers are awesome. I know!

My monitor posing with the CD. Yes, I know I'm showing off. Deal with that as well.

Of Madness and it's effects.

2008-11-26T18:30:00.001+05:30

It was like gunpowder, the smell. And my hands were full of oil.

The Force bloomed in every available orifice of that whore full of unattractive sexuality. And she grinned at me with teeth black as jet and a tongue hiding the odour of a thousand kissed men- all dead.

I smirked and mock-admired the made-up world conjured by this Gatekeeper. When one knows the intricacies of the Force, nothing seems implausible. The sounds of unknown battle ravaged the countryside, and the sky was an impossible colour of carmine laced with vivid lines of puce.

The Force encroached upon this world with the intensity of a viscous gas, pushing you away from every point – consequently pulling you towards some undefined centre. The whore laughed, and told me why my thoughts were correct. Her laughter had an undue amount of attractiveness that her entire form lacked. And she was the Gatekeeper. I told her that, and she told me she had no form.

I nodded; laughing at her sickly form and promptly went and kissed her cheek.

My lips were instantly chapped as she guffawed. I laughed along with her, and her breath smelt of gunpowder. I spat some of the dry-lip-skin on my hands, and they floated on the layer of thick oil it managed to acquire from the made-up world.

She told me that I was funny, and that she has never come across such a person in her wanderings before. I told her that she rarely wandered. Her world wandered.

She shook her head and laughed again, and she clapped her hand as she did so and suddenly we were in a different world, and she had multicoloured drapes that were constantly falling off. She looked seductive enough.

I told her that she still stunk of gunpowder. She looked miffed as the world returned back to the world with the red sky.

She does not speak for some time before I ask her to show me the knowledge that I came all the way here for. She points at her shrivelled body and tells me that it is all there.

I tell her to shut up, laughing at her in the most condescendingly disgusted way.

She tells me, “If space is constant, and time continues, what will happen?” And the twinkle in my eye confirms that the old, ugly hag has asked her first question.

**

The Holocron sits on its throne – in the middle of my study table. The Consul told me to handle the piece with care. He told me that the ancient Sith rituals held powerful secrets. They were guarded, of course. And they would test me.

I accepted the challenge; as a newly instated Priest. Pride is a part of a promotion package.

I delved into it and a hand pulled me in.

**

“The same that will happen when time remains constant, and space expands.” I said. Confidently.

“This was the easiest question, and you got it wrong.”

She leapt upon me like the Mistress of Darkness and fouled my mouth with hers, instantly reducing one half of my brain to nothingness.

I grinned lopsidedly. She laughed in a derisive way, and this time it’s absolutely more adorable. I wanted to ask her to kiss me, and I knew I will need to burn my mouth with xenoboric acid to forget that gunpowder taste.

Acid root would do just fine, she told me.

She tickles my neck and I whimper at her hand, asking her for some more.

She asks about bacta tanks and my mentor next. And I grin through the entire session. The Gatekeeper knew what she was doing. Eroding an amusing person’s mind was fundamentally easy.

“So you don’t know the answer?”

I sat smugly and shook my head cheerfully.

She ravished me. The world we were in was thoroughly washed with ethanol when I opened my eyes and I saw a bird flying away into the air.

Haha. I laughed at that bird when I saw that sexy seductress run her fingers through my hair.

She starts talking and my ears grinned as they heard her voice. I rang. They were all asymmetrical and the world was, on the contrary, not spinning at all. It was zooming, and was lighted up with many bright colours. I enjoyed looking at the colours. The colours had some taste too, as I licked off a few from her ears. I enjoyed that too, and she chided me by asking me something.

I did not even hear it properly the first time.

**

“I will ask you three questions. Easy to hard. Answer one, and you may have my knowledge.”

‘Ha. Your questions…’ I told the Gatekeeper, ‘are the test?’

“Yes. You’ll see.” A clap of thunder turned the pearly white room into a world of red and purple. A shaggy old woman was standing in front of me and she promptly kissed me.

I spat and choked on the air.

**

“Do you know?” She asked again.

“No, I don’t know my name!” I cheerfully giggled and told her.

“Then you are mad.”

More DJB madness! :D
This time about Sith Holocrons and what madness will take over you when the twisted semi-sentient Force-imbued Gatekeeper tests you/your mettle.

The merits and demerits of shaving.

2008-11-24T22:00:00.003+05:30

This was a long time a-coming. Yeah, ever since I started shaving. The thing is, that shaving is not a very good thing once you're in the group of men (....and women...) who do it. No it isn't. There are a few merits and several demerits, as I shall explain.

MERITS

{Promptly said by my girlfriend} You get more kisses!

You don't look like a street-urchin.

It looks better when you're air-guitaring Rock of Ages (or similar song) in front of your classmates.

It doesn't itch when you're out in the sun.

You can proudly say you shaved! And grin quite like this ":D"

DE-MERITS
{Apart from the directly opposite points of the merits}

It's really tough to be proudly lazy about the entire affair at 7:55AM in the morning when you realise you haven't shaved for a week and even Ooga-Bogila the Caveman looks better than you.

It's tougher to pull of the slick: "I am cool" look when
a.) You don't give a damn about your looks.
b.) You are unshaven.

It's pretty damn hard to get a straight answer from your girlfriend when you ask her: "Do you mind me unshaven? :D"

Very... very... hard to play when you're constantly scratching an overgrown goatee since it's obsessively compulsive to do so.

Damn pimples.

Yes. So, kids without facial hair... DO NOT WISH FOR IT.
That's that... yeah.

My head a splode.

2008-11-22T19:36:00.003+05:30

Music for an exploded fruit. by ~haryonkazarelth on deviant ART

Non. This was not my idea. It was the idea that was born out of excessive Electronics Fundamentals and Applications by D. Chattopadhyay and P.C. Rakshit and that other one by Milman And Halkias.

I believe Lacuna Coil shouldn't be mixed with Electronics. It's like Red Bull + Vodka. You/Your-brain suffer/suffers death/disability.
Thankfully.

Of love.

2008-11-17T19:42:00.003+05:30

I was accused.
Accused of committing great treachery against my fellow man.
I was accused.
Accused of committing great vulgarity against my society.
I was accused.
Accused of having affairs that no ordinary man could ever have.

I was riled.
Riled for having [a] consort such as her.
I was riled.
Riled for ravishing her.
I was riled.
Riled for letting her ravage me.

I was subdued.
Subdued for putting such ingredients of love into [this] common society.
I was subdued.
Subdued for having a love greater than most have seen.
I was subdued.
Subdued for putting up with this.

-

And yet I saw greatness in it all, as I suffered all and beheld none.
I saw her heroicness as she battled it, stoically in black.
And I beheld her, the way she beheld me with those large eyes, and beautifully crisp face.

I am in love.

Although, you have to agree that she is hot.

Yes, she is my new computer running a Black Edition Phenom under her sweet, very sweet exterior. The 19" widescreen is an added bonus with that superior GPU she's hooked up with.

And I'm a technophile, deal with it.

I Grow Weary

2008-10-28T18:07:00.002+05:30

I walked unseen. The darkness that engulfed my robes billowed out as I walked. Thick, tainting smoke issued from each step, marring everything it touched. In the course of my day-walks, the fresh-cut metallic lustre of the ship had been replaced by chimney-soot, softly echoing the existence of numerous spirits that I allowed to roam freely.
And I am weary of it.

I need no air. The darkness of my soul and the blackness of my spirit allowed my shell to exist without the basic needs of Life. Researching that subject from my purgatory allowed my mind to remain…objective. My withered skin hangs by shreds, yet mostly I can change my shell to suit my needs. Immortality, or a mere imitation, you decide. My intellect hangs on to dear ‘Life’ as I progress through the mockery it has become.
And I grow weary of it.

The acolytes and novices and other lowly creatures fear me. Everyone fears me, the Tomekeeper of Tarentum. I hold all knowledge that exists within Cestus. I hold all knowledge that exists within Tarentum. I hold all knowledge that is known to Us. The whispers echo about my existences. A Tomkeeper for each House, and yet he is the same. They believe I can exist everywhere, fools. Simulacra are child’s play and yet as children they fall prey to it. I used to be amused. But now…

Gravestones rumble as I pass them -“Beloved father/Beloved husband…”- now an unloved servant of mine. Crematoria swoon with the wind that billows as I approach them, leftover ashes forming wind-slaves. Toys, servants and slaves. One can try making new things each day with leftover cadavers. Modelling clay. Yet, my hands grow muddier and my eyes grow bleak as I amass a hoard from each planet of Yridia.
One last time.

Days darken as the onset of Vong continues to punish the Galaxy. The Galaxy. I remember that old time when I felt the energy of the Universe pulse through me for that tiny fraction of a picosecond. The drink drained me as much as I drained it, more passionately than I could drink a woman. How much longer have a waited for another sip of that, I know not. The remembrances of that moment separated itself from the history of the Universe and exist within the Known Universe within my brain. The Sanctuary of old is gone, replaced by three more True Keepers. Two stay there, and one serves the Clan, as always (I am led to believe). Shade and Tel’Ratha are forgotten by most, and it is only their vitae that they served me on that shattering moment remains vivid in my conscious. They said it was the seed of a Keeper. And it has multiplied within me.

I did nothing to sire another. The poor child would grow weary as I do. Two hundred and fifty nine years of existence, and I marvel at how Shade and Tel’Ratha survived boredom. They are still somewhere in this Universe, their faint beacons are suddenly made apparent when we face each other in an exact straight line. Searchlights, their eyes are. And searchlights, my eyes are.

Tarentum amasses its forces, as does every capable kingdom with a system under its control. For once, this fragmented galaxy unites against an invader. Aliens bring that tendency along with them. The fragmented Orders unite and all previous quarrels are forgotten. Kingdoms unite and all previous wars are forgotten. Yet, when will the Universe unite, when there is no alien Universe that we know of?

We prepare for battle, and grow weary.

--

The battles rage. Fury dismounts from his throne and fuses himself into the very air these mortals breathe. Their invasion is far more stronger than the previous one, and we are stronger than ever before. I cannot be certain of the time when this quell will end. Yet I can be certain that I will see it end.
‘Tis a matter of time.

--

My ‘emissaries’ are now tortured at the hands of the Vong. Synthetic screams throng their ships as I bellow out their screams without the slightest tremor. Sixteen, per large ship, and their mothership is all mine.

One fine day, I say farewell to Yridia, my home for two hundred and forty two years and take a TIE Defender. Banshee is at the controls. The cat has become quite intelligent, and very pretty too. She controls her forms, much like her master.

Soon, I look into the eyes of the mothership. The communication-webs spun inside rupture in alarm as they see the tiny fighter materialise some distance away from their gravity wells. Soon, fighters hoard my ship, and yet their weapons are useless against my veil of Darkness. They don’t see me giving them a slip and going close to their ship. They don’t see me entering their corridors. They don’t see me laughing and smirking at their ignorance.
Their leader sees my young form, standing tall before him. His emotions yield mirth, his brain processes horror, his spirit engulfs his figure.

I say that they will all die by my hand.
He laughs. They all laugh.

My minions stop their screaming. Their long dead bodies stiffen, their eyes lose their garment of brightness.
Their soldiers are annoyed, as they increase the power of their torture devices.
Nothing.

I repeat what I said, and I laugh. All seventeen years of my form, and all eras of knowledge within me gush and choke upon laughter.
The circular hall of the Vong-child’s court has a centre. I glide to it, my feet already heating up. Their warriors are motionless.

I kneel, as if in reverence to their leader, and he smiles without moving a muscle in his expressionless face. I touch the centre and I feel waves upon waves of Everything falling onto me. A black hole.
They feel it.

My minions stiffen as I smell and see them all simultaneously, and then I see the Universe and I disperse.
In the moment before my soul is destroyed, I See the entire Universe, and in one of its galaxies I see a train of ships being swallowed by themselves, by a nexus.
And within a moment, I am gone.

I wrote this up in ten minutes as a story-submission for an online Star Wars fan club that I am part of. It's a little on the vague side, I agree.
The narrator is a Necromancer, a Keeper, specifically.
That's about that.

The festival of blinding lights.

2008-10-28T14:36:00.004+05:30

As time grows, you see novelty in mundane things. I believe that is why Deepavali is celebrated, to look for light in the strangest embers of magnesium and copper, and potassium and phosphorous.

My vantage point, was sadly not great.

This one looked like a tree bearing golden fruits. Laurelin, anyone?

A spinning tree of light that, due to the previous caption, reminds me of Telperion.

A Green and [sort of, in a colour-blinded way] Gold draconian spurt!

And suddenly, I caught sight of the Gandalf of this show!

--and his masterpiece at the end.

2008-10-18T22:21:00.000+05:30

In a fit of the daily madness I almost forgot that today was the most
beautiful day on Fealdamar for today, 4 years back, Fealdamar was born.
Rejoice!

Of the Pujas.

2008-10-09T22:14:00.005+05:30

At Durgapur, the Durga Puja - in a very weird "pun" - is very homely. Leaving behind the wastes that the city, that hopes to have blinding lights, is blind to was (as always) an enriching experience. None of the congestion of lovers blinded by the lights and yet marching on to parks that have ice-cream cups and jhal-muri papers strewn mercilessly around by more blind people.
No big pandals that loom over your figure with idols and encampments of justified nonsense. Money that could be used well elsewhere pours in on these monuments of colossal codswallop that all these Red Bengalis await for the entire year.
Oh sure, industrialisation is leaving the state for good - the economy of Pakistan, Kazakhstan and everywhere else is on the verge of recession, but hey! "THE DURGA PUJA IS ON! DID YOU KNOW THAT IT HAPPENS ONLY ONCE A YEAR?"
Wow. I did not know that.

Yet, in all this irritation that surfaces on my head there are a few tiny markers that catch my eye, and are invisible to everyone at this time of the year. Beautiful and minute monuments of faith that stick on you even as the entire world looks upon the mighty and monumental Durga. A wishing house that resided just in front of a small temple - people wished for success, good health, great money and offered these clay horses and elephants after the olden days.

And somehow, for me, any work of art that is not routinely destroyed in the name of ritual is a work of faith.

I am so thoroughly... whatevered.

2008-09-29T18:09:00.000+05:30

Speaking plainly, there have been very few times in recent times when I have actually felt as expectantly slow, lazy or, as I greedily put it listless.

College, the old monument of unruliness, still feels like school – making me desperately wish I was somewhere else, in some crazy tree of wakelessness penning prose that only the other monkey in that tree could read. In this state of semi-consciousness I go to college, run about a few classes, make fun of practically every thing there is to make fun of, and then come back home with workload for the next day, finish that as quickly as I can, sit down in front of my ailing and service-deprived computer and start typing random emails, or chat with those few friends that come online.

And suddenly I never get inspired as much as I have always been. Suddenly old and painful memories flood me with the slightest of triggers and suddenly I find myself sleeping and wishing I could dream properly.
With the entire day's curriculum compressed and canned into paragraphs of wastage I find little else to say when friends, family and others ask me how my day was.
Whenever there was a little bit of excitement, the day is “AWESOME!!!!!!!!!”
And when there isn't, it was “Normal.” Which is completely true.

And for all I know, it's just my current state of zombification that's making me say it, but I have too many things in mind that I really can't say here.

And I have nothing else to say but, “But, whatever.”

Fireflies in the sky

2008-09-06T14:27:00.005+05:30

It's not always that I yearn for company when I go to the Lake. I have always had company whenever I've visited this place of beauty, tranquility, hilarity and love. However, I have never had many opportunities to visit it at the crack of dawn, or walk through it as the last ebbing blurs of twilight slowly disappear.

This is the time when fireflies light up the neat bushes with their visual sonnets. It is, in a word Wanderer, Beautiful. You see them light up countless bushes, and you see people walking around those bushes. A few now; friends walking around, guessing where they'd be a few months from then; middle-aged men lumbering together away from the hustle of their lives.

And when you take the turn at the vertex of the lake, the numbers increase. In the half darkness and shade you see more friends- a bunch with two guitars performing Sweet Child of Mine, grandpas with their little grandchildren, couples kissing with the backdrop of the lit-up bank thinking they are hidden, while knowing everyone knows their little secret.

It is a place vibrant with the secrecy of life, and the patient arrival of the fireflies in the sky that would tear through the deep, pink clouds and bear witness to everything that would happen there.
And no one else has any idea.

Park Street

2008-08-25T18:41:00.001+05:30

Myriads of colours, all toned back to sepia one day. It's been a while since I was in this "in" place of Calcutta. Yet it looks brilliantly pale in comparison to greater gems that visit it there.

Happy Independance Day!

2008-08-15T17:23:00.002+05:30

At Durgapur. :]

Return

2008-08-06T21:00:00.001+05:30

So yes, I haven't posted for some time. Maybe I should've mentioned that I would be on a sabbatical and whatnot. So here is a sort of "here I am, and yes, I am alive, thank you." Post.

Writer's block [when it came to my blog], my broadband failing when I needed it most, and not to mention the quirky and inconsistent modem that is constantly bothering me, I have suffered a good deal of 'setbacks', to say the least. Yet, whenever I had wanted to say something or the other, the greatest setback that I have suffered till now would be the fact that I haven't had the time to consolidate my thoughts and map it with words. Being the somehow inexperienced lexical cartographer that I am, my odd timings of college (yes, I've joined another institution. Already) and my tiring tirades with people I couldn't care less about and trying to make some space for those dearly beloved by me, I have utterly pushed back dear dear Fealdamar to the bottom of my to-do list. Yet, I must say it isn't something I have totally rejected. I have come quite far enough with this to tell myself that, no, this is not minor dilettantism. This is Fealdamar. Somewhat of a scooped out portion of you.

Add to that constant bipolarism, a little biorhythm change and some bursts of activity, I have been sufficiently occupied to take up time and write to my blog. And for that, my subjects, I do not so much as ask for a pardon, but I do ask for some patience. More than what you've dealt with, unfortunately.
Oh well, we can't have everything can we?

For now, a small pictorial representation of 'the haps', must do.

Basically, the first 'hap' would be my really really really loved new personal communications device, the Palm Centro.

The Auditorium of my beloved new institution

The feinting sun on the day of the solar eclipse.

The model McLaren Mercedes on show at South City.

The light shower on the Solar Eclipse day made this.

Finally, a lucky picture of the bitten-off sun {through protective glasses}.

2008-06-23T21:27:00.009+05:30

Quill by ~haryonkazarelth on deviant ART

Rarely do pens ever function this close to archaic majesty. I believe it's a gift from a Goddess. To write with such delectable finesse is a blessing.

I believe this is a "writing instrument". And. It's mine.

The Port of Lust.

2008-06-06T15:54:00.005+05:30

True to the span of time, the immaculate complexities of Time bound the two of us together in a way that nothing else could. Separated by a storm, and a wind of fortune and fortitude, I made my way past unimaginable blockades and insurmountable breakers as, at last when I did land ashore, there was a sweetness that wafted off my shirt. The sweetness of the salty sea.
Yet, the sky shines above me, asking me to shuttle toward it; to break off my chains that bind me to this earth and water.

She wrote me a letter yesterday, I am led to believe. The delivery system in these parts is far from dependable, yet in the bond that ties us together, golden and silvern beads carry messages that no human eye could ever perceive. She must have sent it. Dizzy beaches and lovelorn songs make our distance seem farther than the stars. I weep in my heart, a sailor's honour makes it necessary not to show signs of womanly weakness outside. Of course, and show his love for the woman openly.

I see my men around those portly wenches -pardon my foul pun- who readily dance in the ports for the clink of a couple, some exceptional beauties for a dozen or so. Elegance is something most whores lack, I've seen, except in the port of Mizzana:- Sultry sunset beauties whose very turn seem to incite and ignite. (What would these men be against sirens such as those?)
Ah, Mizzana. Sails and women. I met her as well, there. She was not of the other women. She could incite and ignite at will too (what Beauty cannot?) yet she stayed away. Learning, and enjoying it. It was perchance I saw her in the steps of that open lush port city. It smelt of salt too. Yet, this was no salt from sea. This was the salt of the lips. The Port of Lust, it was taught to us to be. How many times I've been there for a bite of that lust, I do not know. Still, one last wish does remain. I speak as a man on his death row, do I not?
What man separated from his love is not?

The sky looms again in front of me. More sailing for tomorrow, and more gold to find. If I was a lover before, I am a sailor now. A lover within, nevertheless. It shall be some time before I am a lover without too. Till then, I have to suffice looking at these pale men plunder the large women and think of her.

Inspired by a sudden memory of Neverwinter Nights. I forget which place there was the sea and beautiful women. It's haunting, though. This post is nothing at all in comparison to that beautifully sculpted script of the game.

On Poetry UPDATED!

2008-05-29T08:41:00.005+05:30

The word 'poetry' brings to mind many multitudes of comments, praises and quotes to one's mind. {That is to say, if one is poetically attuned.} There have been poems which are nothing less than glittering diamonds, and praises made upon them are nothing short of poems themselves. The different forms of poems fork into myriads of conjugates and hybrids with others. (Poems aren't racist, you know.}
Yet, I do fear that words are being mutilated and tortured when they are placed in a sentence of such a structure that can, at most, be described as a non-prosaic placement of words. Such is how the present generation of Bloggers are making "poetry". {If you do notice, Wanderer, the 'B' is capitalised. That is because I've found this phenomenon predominantly on blogger.com's blogs

I shall guide you through examples, Wanderer. Examples as I have collected through wanderings throughout this small section of the Blogosphere. Such as this one from here

This is the age of sorrow.
Not because my love
lies weeping like a violin*
in an empty school building

I know that excerpts hardly can be judged. However, I am not judging here. I am just merely remarking upon the fruitful and brilliant simile that the 'poet' has used to make his sorrowful love prominent. It's moments like these that I take off my glasses, wipe them with some optician's cloth [that is free with every new pair] and peruse through the words once more, hoping it was not a dust-flake that faulted my cognitive capabilities.

Yet another one from the same author is this from here, entitled "The Secret":

In a loveless grimace
I shall reveal to you
The emotional subtleties

Of facial muscles.

I really hope the whimsical author tells me that this is no poem. That this is but a random compilation of thoughts from his head {Although, it can be argued that that is a perfect definition of a poem}. Yet, since the concerned author usually displays his non-existent spontainety as being very random so-random-that-he-make-fart-jokes-and-pass-them-off-as-metaphors, I do not believe he would accept this present definition.

**********

Exhibit number two's beautifully mundane effort to use stark and unheard-of imagery caught my eyes here:

I want to pluck poetry from the humid air,
from the invisible radiowaves around me
and translate it into the language of
black ink on white paper.

Now. This poetic display of affection kills me since it is entitled "I Want". I sincerely hope she does not mean "I Want Some Imagination Rather Than Forceful Concocted Imagery." And secondly, what in the world does she mean by that 'stanza'? Does she want to show to the whole world that she is a plagiarist? An out-of-closet one?

Another chiaroscuro-ic piece:

I cut away your raincoat and exposed you.
So I give to you my umbrella and my shivers.
Now I can walk away from your outstretched hand.

I ask you, Wanderer. Why? Why does anyone bother to write some silly little pieces and pass it off as "written material" [to be very mild]? Freedom of Speech/Writing has nothing to do with this. As long as my Freedom of Watching is in question, this can verily be a crime. {And, to all those who do not believe such a Freedom exists, try walking nude in the streets of your favourite Indian city. Try to avoid getting arrested too.}
To say the least, my head already a splode.

**********

Herein Enter a Weather phenomenon. Here is chronicled an amateur's sex poem:

In a fit of teenage summernight passion,
we stopped the taxi to a screeching halt
at the hotel.

The very same hotel
where callgirls make money
and where bigfatmen, with
redsapphirelust at their
fingertips, look for women
half their age.
You told me.

We reached for the darkened
hollow sky
and the dreams in between,
and the inklines beneath the moon
that belong to the woman
you love.
We stretched in time
for the slow violin* music
to seep into our skin.
Skin, we left in the
folds of the hotelroom bedsheet.
White satin bedsheet that
didn't quite feel like home.

{I did not insert the italics. Those are from the original.} Let's see. Theme = Sex sex sex. That's the overtone. SEX! Now. Wait. Why are the italicised portions there? You, Wanderer, might think that there is a stress there. An inner meaning. An opium dream coming to life within the author's keyboard. The last whispers of a narcotic in the head making the author insert the words within the italics HTML tag {although... I seriously doubt that is possible, since most of these poets do not know basic HTML. SRSLY!}.
Yet, I cannot possibly shake off the feeling, that it is forced. It is contorted. It takes the word "rape" to new heights. Not rape as in forced sexual intercourse, but rape as in forced wordy intercourse. {And it's tagged under "Pain and Agony". I solemnly swear to you, Wanderer. I HAVE NEVER EVER SEEN A 17/18 YEAR OLD WOMAN WANT TO LOSE HER VIRGINITY THAT BADLY. I DO NOT WANT TO LOSE MY VIRGINITY AT THIS AGE.}

And the rest of that blog is just too much for my precious little photochrome protected eyes. Too much.
{And thank the devil it does not receive many comments, the blog in question.}
{Sadly, neither does mine.}

Now, this was never meant to be an essay {as you probably know by now}. So could you please inform concerned people that their blogs have been linked to? {GOOD NEWS!!! Isn't it?}

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

* WHAT THE HELL IS IT WITH VIOLINS AND REFERENCES TO THE INSTRUMENT IN EVERY BLOODY POEM ANYWAY?

Aside: WHAT THE HELL IS IT WITH MUSH ONLINE AND REFERENCES TO YOUR WORSE[r] HALF AS "YOU" ANYBLOODYWAY? I REFER TO MY READER[S] AS "YOU". BLOODY HELL. THIS MAKES ME SO MAD.

UPDATE: Il Weather Phenomenon got pissed. She posted flames, and she moved/removed her blog to some place else/beyond the Blogosphere. The subjects of Fealdamar thank her for her gracious act of samaritan generosity, and the Prince would forever link a cached page of her dead site here, as an act of goodwill.

The last exam.

2008-05-25T09:41:00.002+05:30

My exams are finally over!
And I found how awesome it is to insult absolutely random people and walk away, gleaming in the insult's wake.

No, I do know this post should've been in my Tumblr.

Although... I did manage to see it.

2008-05-10T21:48:00.002+05:30

It was a last minute decision. Actually no, it was more of a mathematically enhanced and genetically engineered decision. I went to the terrace.

This was... 7:45 PM. Occultation was to start at 1957 hours. {My planetarium software, as I saw later, placed the time of the disappearance of Mars at about 2003.}

I lugged Asterope all the way up without the chair, since I wasn't too hopeful. However, all hope returned as I saw him shining, almost winking at me, as the veil of the Star-Queen suddenly lifted from the moon. He smirked at me as the lone eye in that part of Calcutta focused on him.

And there. Beside him, a red dot wavered floated. It was quite hard to believe that the God of War was reduced to a red dot beside the Queen of the Stars and her adored servant. Madness set in at 2001.

The wind picked up speed and the scope's stand was unbalanced. Waving, waving and wavering. It was hard to keep track, and yet I whispered to that Queen of the Stars. To her and no one else. She cleared the skies. She cleared the clouds. And in a moment she will rein the wind and offer me everything. Just a few more minutes.

I panted.

Just some more minutes.

Mars almost seemed to wait. Minute went by. Another.
He did not want to be engulfed by the dark side of the moon. Yet, he was bound by the firmament, and the Queen's words.

A sudden stillness, before plunging into the void in three discreet, heart-stopping seconds.
And my conversation with the Star-Queen stopped then.
Tick.

And everything collapsed.

Thank you, Grandma for telling me. Thank you, Star-Queen for helping me. And thank you, Selena and Ares, for showing me.

Astronomy Day!

2008-05-10T19:21:00.002+05:30

CELEBRATE! :D

But not in Calcutta. If you think you'll celebrate Astronomy day in Calcutta by watching the very rare occultation of Mars by the moon, you are very mistaken.
In Calcutta, the weather and the people are not suited to astronomy. You see... the skies of Caluctta hate astronomy. So much so that they'll entice the few [very few] amateur astronomers here by having nimbostratus clouds cover up the sky, but being stratus they allow a fair amount of blurred light from the moon to dall upon us.
"LOOK! IT'S THE MOON!! BUT YOU WON'T GET IT HAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHA. SUCKS TO BE YOU!!!!"

And my telescope lies... discarded. I hate the skies of Calcutta.

A nightcrawler on Venus.

2008-05-08T13:26:00.002+05:30

I knew your brother by face. He was a liar, you told me. I knew you made a mistake, the way you told me. Do nightcrawlers have kin?

I never knew your sister. She was a bitch, you told me. I never could figure that one out. How could your sister be a canine when you're an earthworm? And then, there's that previous question.

We had that one mutual friend. He was an addict, you told me. I thought his eyes spoke of the freedom they granted him. Oh well, ecstasy and other stuff never really appealed to me.

And then, there was your girlfriend. She was a slut, you told me. I didn't quite understand why she was your girlfriend, then.

Of course, we never spoke of our teachers. They left us all alone. Haha.

I had an insane amount of fun writing this, yes.

NEW [unnecessary] STUFF ADDED TO MY [life]BLOG!

2008-05-06T19:03:00.003+05:30

Just one, though. One single thing. I got tired of the wretched options that Blogger's commenting thing gives. I decided to do away with Blogger's commenting and ended up using Disqus instead. It's pretty decent, actually.

I'd like my community to have a page on Disqus. {Sadly, I know that most probably, that's never going to happen.

*Sigh*

Conversations, laughter and insanity. -UPDATE!

2008-05-03T15:44:00.008+05:30

{I don't think a subject body/introduction is necessary}
{OH. And suitably modified for general public viewery/viewage/viewity}

Chat transcripts follow.

{Over phone}

LD: .... and then, I used to walk around the whole place like a bhatakti hui aatma.
Kaz: O.O
LD: A-!
Kaz: WHAHAHAHAWHAHHAHWAHWHOHFAIDSHAISFSDGKASFGBEJRTVFCWEHYNEWUTWBVVCGFEMCNWREMsadasdfbassdfWqhahawhahahahahawhwhaashdbdsfa.
LD: It's not that funny y'kn-
Kaz is still laughing.
LD: BLAH! Well and then... *says something*
Kaz suddenly imagines LD in a flowing white gown with a candle in her hands and almost dies of laughter, while being oblivious to the next few lines of speech that she gives.
LD: OK FINE! I've moved on with the story you know..?

***
{Over Gtalk}

Kaz {For no proper reason}: HAPPY BIRTHDAY!
Luci: Oh thank you Ma'am! :D
Kaz: Oh you're welcome, honey. :D

--

LD {After reading this}: I knew it. :P

***
{Over Facebook}

DC: I saw that idiot's picture on facebook. He's ugly, just like his personality and his soul. I knew he would be. How the hell do you tolerate him? AND he has facebook access to you! Jesus.

Kaz: When and how did you get that AIDS related complex's profile? Oh well, I couldn't care less. And, who told you I tolerate him? I just keep him as a "friend" here to respect the good time we had in 04.

DC: "Respect the good time we had" *Snort*

Kaz: Oh, and he has a movie that I want too. Forgot to mention that. :P {i can't fake sentimentalism with you can I? :P}

DC: NO you cannot. Yes :P

DC: THAT is why you're friends with him? That's it. Tell me what you want from me. It's Mia isn't it?

Kaz: DAMNATIONS! HOW the devil you know that?! I is very scared now...

***

{Over phone}

LD: No... I am pretty careless sometimes.
Kaz: I know, I know. So am I. I forget to see the second part of a question sometimes.
LD: That happens.
Kaz: Did that in ISC.
Kaz smiles proudly.
LD: Uh....

***

{At home}

LD: Do you think Shre would be free now?
Kaz: One way to find out!
Kaz calls DC.
DC: Hi!
Kaz: You free now and for the next 3 hours?
DC: Yeah.
Kaz: We're raiding your house, and bringing you a piece of leftover pizza.
DC: OK!
Kaz disconnects the call.
LD: You know... people usually say: "Hi. How're you. I'm fine, thank you. Are you free now? Oh good. Can I come over to your place?"
Kaz grins proudly at his indecency.

***

{On the streets, before meeting DC}
LD: She might be late.
Kaz: Hah, yes.
Kaz and LD spot DC on a cycle-rickshaw.
LD: She hasn't seen us hahahah!
Kaz (to himself): AHA! Perfect opportunity. While she's distracted somewhere else, I'll sneak inside her house and steal her cat! Three... two... (aloud, as DC sees him) Oh hey Sis! Your clothes are hideous.
LD: O.o
DC: Why thank you. You don't look all that great either!
DC then proceeds to hug us.

***

{Over Gtalk}

Kaz: ALSO! I discovered what you meant by "pretentious". :P

DC: how?

Kaz links her the post of aforementioned "idiot".

DC: why must you torture me?
why?
what have i done to you?
but be a good friend and a kind sister?
is this how you repay me?
by torturing me?

Kaz dies of laughterness overflowingness.

***
{Over Gtalk, sneaked in to me by DC}

LD: TA DA!
Say AAAAAAA!
Lalalalalalaa
DC: AAAAAAAAA
:P
LD: Now...
Say GAAAAAH
DC: if you're happy and you know it murder your bird!
LD: With the proper meaningful expression!
DC: GAAAAH. Looks blah
LD: And now!
For the grand finale!
You must tap dance and also say:
"Jing a ling a tring lung tee haw haw taaaaa laaaaaaa eeeeeee haaaaa AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA"
With proper emphasis in the right parts
:P
DC clubs LD to death
grins like a troll
LD: OH NOES!
LD sticks a fork up her nose
DC: you're DEAD
LD: I iz bhatakti hui aatma!
DC: don't be childish at this grave moment
bad pun intended
LD: xP
Bwhahahahhaa
DC: i iz also escort aatma
LD: No, no, I've refused the grave
DC: for your ghostly sexual needs

{At this point, the editor wishes to confirm his denial of having any kind of necrophilia}

LD: xP
DC: extra scary for more munny
LD: That will not do
DC: butu wai?
LD: Because
I my sexual organs have rotted
Since I am a ghost
And so
I iz aseskual ghostie
DC: ooooh

***

{Over Gtalk}

DC laughs after giving Kaz the conversation above.
Kaz: *Toodeadtotalk*
DC: Degrees of dead-ness.

THIS post has been written in LD-noir style. And has randomness smeared over it. Yes.

TAG!

2008-04-26T09:09:00.008+05:30

I was tagged by DC. And finally, I'm doing this tag.

A is for Astronomy, Asterope, AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA and Airplanes! [since I love watching them fly by.]

B is for Books, Boredom, and Beverages [My constant companions.] {And "Be Benevolent Blease...." BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBB, {AND BDSM!}

C is for Cats, Cats, Cats, Cats, C.c.w.i.a.a.c.t.f., Caturday, Cats, Cheshire Cats,CHOCOLATE, CHOCOLATE, Cats and Chocolates. {AND CLONENESS!} {And the Cellphone.}

D is for Dark Chocolate {the thing, not the sister}, Dark Chocolate {The sister, not the thing} and Dosai.

E is for Enrico Fermi and Enantiomers and Eagles and Enthrallment to an Elentari. [:)]

F is for FEALDAMAR! And Fork {The euphemism}.

G is for Gladness. [What I am feeling sometimes nowadays.]

H is for Hellfire Peninsula and Heat.

I is for India, and Inertia of motion and Insanity. [Insanity, first though.]

J is for Jelly besting for seminars, and "Ja".

K is for Kazarelth, Kaushik, Kaz, Kazman, Kittens, Kisses, Kittehs, and Kajawelth. [:P]

L is for Laughterness, LD, and the L word, Lips, LotR, Lightsabers, and LOLCATS!

M is for Mistress, Monster Truck Madness 2, Madness, Mesotartataric acid and Mistress' Music.

N is for Novels and Novellas. {The Nebula award winning ones, preferably.

O is for Optimus Prime's nemesis Megatron.

P is for Penguins and their army.

Q is for Queen of Soo-purr-lay-tiffs. [:D]

R is for Reading, Rolling motion, "RIGHT!", and revenue.

S is for Sharky, Silme, S, SS, and Slavery and slaps.

T is for Tenthleveltaurenchieftain.

U is for Underwear, and the extreme references and teases of the same. [xP]

V is for Vampires, Vampyrs, Valkyries, Velociraptors {*shudder*}, and "Vel...".

W is for Wobsites, Well-being and whips. [The first is intentional, the middle is forlorn and the last is something.]

X is for Xenophobia. [AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa]

Y is for "Yes, so do I."

Z is for Zoos, and zeppelins. [Because I don't have anything else to say.]

And I tag.
Aas {Since she wanted to get back to the blogging rhythm} and Lucifer {Since he hasn't been able to blog in some time} and PianoPoet. {Since I had to bug her to do this after she comes back from Crete.}
HAHA.

Yesterday, I passed through an electrical storm.

2008-04-23T20:27:00.004+05:30

On rainy days, we'd go swimming out
On rainy days, swimming in the sound
On rainy days, we'd go swimming out

Sometimes, summer days transform. They modify their own place in the Timeline of Seasons to become a different one altogether; such a season might not even exist except in the warm evenings of late autumn, and the chill of the new monsoon sunrise.
Something like a symbol, like the Harvest moon, and the breathless wakening in a cool air-conditioned room.

Yesterday, I went out in the sun. It was supposed to be a ruffling, panting experience, instead of the commonplace "outing", per se.
A graciously obliging wind suddenly passed by my face and I passed on onto higher realms.

As I was coming back, I brought with me a bar of dark chocolate. Its contours smoothening my rough hand as it placed a bit of it within my palm through the rickety rickshaw ride.
And, it was not the only thing that was lifting my spirits. The idea of the wintry chill inside my room, and the privacy for me was enough.
It's highly likely that my hands writhed with the excitement. It had been some time since I had dark chocolate, and my lips ached for a taste of it.

Once inside the house, it was an Electrical Storm. Something exploded in me, and it was all a blur. It's not "sinful" or "sensuous" as everyone keeps telling you, Wanderer.
It's almost as if a dominatrix comes to life within the bar, a mistress, a lover and a woman suddenly appears from nowhere, and then she kisses your lips with her mouth commanding and demanding power and your stomach says no to too much of it. Yet... yet, and yet, your lips love it, your tongue searches for it and your brain adores it.

Sometimes, electrical storms happen while the season is not quite built for it.

{Song: Electrical Storm, by U2}

Tomorrow

2008-04-21T20:48:00.004+05:30

"Every instant of time is a pinprick of eternity."
~ Marcus Aurelius, AD 121-80: Meditations

He knows it is imminent.
As he plays with nothingness,
He knows it is coming...

He looks around for a book to read,
Or a pen or a paper, his hands to be buried.
{He knows it is imminent!}

His eyes dart to the floor
His arduous pleas would steel thereafter, [by the door];
He knows it is coming.

And yet, he fancies;
He is so nervous he could break a wall.
He knows it is imminent.
He knows it is coming.

Famished and thirsty.

2008-04-17T09:41:00.002+05:30

There was this almost, but not quite unlike Celtic tune I heard on Sunday, over the cellphone on a street, while trying to find my bearings. I was tired and sweating, yet the synthesizer's tune compelled me to stay on and hear the whole song while pushing my legs to a known place, to go home.

It took me some time to find out, though. And I was terribly confused. Confused at where I was. It looked familiar. I had known of this place, the shops had addresses written on them. I was still listening to the tune, and I couldn't tell the player to stop. The song blossomed, as I tried slowing it in my head and understanding the chords and the notes. Faster and now slower.

It seemed miraculous, almost. Here I was, out from a tiring exam, and I was listening to a new tune that I had never listened to before. Something that always seemed to be at the tip of my fingers as I sat with my synthesizer, but not quite what came out. And then, I realised that everything suddenly vanished.

I was staring at three weeks of torture, and abruptly the fabric of Time, ruptured. The beautiful song filled mine ears and left them with enough.
When Music hits you, it does so in an unimaginably wild manner.
I was actually smiling weirdly while I looked for an auto-rickshaw.

I am not a composer, but sometimes you don't need to understand music to know it. I am but a learner.
I am just a bit tired, and I cannot wait for the fifth of May.

A gift.

2008-04-11T21:03:00.002+05:30

Slowly; slowly. I'd like to see the rain fall down slowly.
Calmly; slowly. I'd like to see the years float down calmly.
Sweetly; slowly. I'd like to hear the words fall upon me, sweetly.
Keenly; slowly. I'd like to hear the music float upon me, keenly.

Greedily. I'd like to hold onto, greedily.
Hardly. I'd like to leave - hardly.
Wistfully. I'd want to wish wistfully.

*Drizzle*
*Drizzle*
*Thunder*
*Thunder
*Rain*
*Rain*

Two things:

This post was posted on the 13th of April, two days after my birthday.
This is a tribute, yes.

The first and only house on Tagore Avenue.

2008-03-31T22:57:00.002+05:30

Durgapur.

A compound with a small patch of grass, two small square ponds filled with muck and snails and [hopefully, I say] hydras. Most of the time, the lone Koel gets very bored and starts cooing in an energetic tone. And thus those treepies join in and the parakeets get agitated. A few minutes later it's all over.
And then, silence.

The home-theatre inside is booming with Lacuna Coil's soothing strain. The lone occupant of the echoing house starts faintly nodding his head to said music. He then gets distracted and turns off the music and goes out. His head is spinning with too much of input.
He takes out a wide-screen laptop, muttering how he hates the brand, and he starts randomly browsing the net, sitting under a large tree, which proves to be equally friendly to humans, ants, worms and large flies.

The Prince slowly escapes into the large, now-barren garden. In a few months' time, all this would be a lush lawn, as it used to be. Just a little water. Just a little gardening, and everything would be beautiful again.

He studies a little, but he studies the life in his new surrounding. Everything moves if you keep your eyes still.

He watches movies and the stars when he gets the time, and when he doesn't feel sleepy. Finally.

Oh lovely new Home.

Of shoes--and ships--and sealing-wax--

2008-03-17T19:17:00.005+05:30

Enigmatic, and wonderfully colourful. That's how I would describe the lake at night.
It's big. And yet it is so darn small sometimes.

I went to meet up with a friend near a book shop. We though it was a fine idea to go to a coffee shop.
And then, we talked.

Of shoes--and ships--and sealing-wax--
Of cabbages--and kings--
And why the sea is boiling hot--
And whether pigs have wings.

And that's after a full girl-gang comes in, pushes us from our table. We drink. We finish. And we go out, asking a florist if they had black roses {"No"}, and if not, do they exist? {"Very rare. They're found in some parts of the world"}
It was quite funny {"Blah... it would have been more fun if it was a woman..."} , and we ended up deciding to go walk the lake.

At night. It's beautiful. And that's all I can ever say. Pictures don't do justice to it [they never do, anyway], and we started walking.

And again, we started talking, {"More serious things now... tell me."} about some things. The future looked too close now, breathing down our necks. And yet here we were, in one small, perfectly nice spot in the world. Just a close buddy and no one else.
And we talked. Profoundly. He talked more, I listened. I talked, he listened. Then well.. he told me he would like to adopt a daughter. After his marriage.
That, well stunned me. It was out of the blue for me. This person: how well have I known him! And yet... how little?

And he says, that he will refuse to add more friends. He says he wants to only have his current list. The idiot. :)

2008-03-15T11:04:00.003+05:30

So stemming from the absolute desire to sit at one place and organise my thoughts, I started writing.
How long has it been? I don't know. I've been reading through most blogs at those peaceful times of saturation that you encounter. Reading through updates whose individual meaning passed through my processing centre, but the full-meaning floating just high enough to scrape above my head.

Of stuff:

And this, after a lot of stuff that has been happening at home. My grandfather passed away. And to take a small quote from Aasra's blog, I have just one grandparent left for me in the whole wide world. I could not go all the way to Chennai to see him. I was numb, mom was supporting herself with the feeling that his suffering had finally ended, sis was crying, dad was busying himself with the necessary work and grandma was crying as well.
It dulled down over a few days, and it was something of a shocker to me that I was feeling a lot of things, and yet, practically nothing. Still, it was functional enough.

**

Of exams:

But all of this, makes pretty much no sense to me. For example, I suddenly realised after yesterday's chemistry exam {while walking back from school}, that I had spelt "height" wrong. I don't know where I used that word, anyway. Still, the deriding fact that I had spelt one little word which has nothing at all to do with pure and applied chemistry kept harping its sorry state of affairs to me.

This was still not a very good reason to stop me from singing U2 at the top of my voice along Wood street. Facebook status message notwithstanding ("Kaushik is at a place called vertigo!"), my tweet was decidedly understating some valuable points. I believe, in another attempt to refer to U2, I am one step closer to nowhere, with two exams to go!

**

Of blogging and writing:

My blog has started to disappear from my day-to-day life. Mostly because of what Twitter has done. And what Radar has done. I'd still like all my blogging buddies to come over to Twitter. :)

**

Of random splutters:

I really can stay up at night. Although I had promised one of my favourite friends that I would not stay up and watch Red Sonja, desperate hunger made me stay up and have chocolate corn-flakes with some cold wind thrown in.

****

And that's basically that. If anyone wants a twitter invite, do drop me an email. And do remember that photomicroblogging about food is amazingly satisfying.

Hello!

2008-02-04T21:53:00.000+05:30

After much deliberation, boredom, anachronistic speeches and studies studies studies studies and food later, this post has finally taken shape.

So, my dear Fealdamarians. This post is something like a lot of things that would enable you to keep in touch with your dearest overlo-{er.. }Prince in his times of deepest distress.
If you do check his realm's new gleaming looking sidebar {it just has a few new things added} you shall see Twitter.
YES! Microblogging!!
Short, sweet, nice, shout-able 140 character messages to the whole world. I have grown quite fond of it. Especially since it integrates with my personal-lest computer: The mobile phone. I'd like to see all of you join in on the fun. It's sort of... fun!
And yes, it takes off boredom in the middle of a boring day.

And this:

Radar: Twitter + Flickr = Radar. Only, it's so much more smoother, and fledgling.
Yes, I had nothing to do, as well. Haha.

***

IN OTHER NEWS!
1.) The Prince has become engrossed in chocolate and studies. When questioned, he said that chocolate "is a very good anti-depressant."
2.) Late days and early night makes two sparrow chicks fly away real fast.
3.) Kissing your favourite gadget is no way to express true love for it. It's just not enough.
4.) Why does internet become slow, you ask? I answer: I am a cable from the middle east. 'Tis not me you seek,
5.) Do NOT lean on things on a pillar at Flury's. They might be cakes.
6.) Never ever try to shout at shuttle-cock sellers. They are very polite.
7.) Join Twitter and Radar. Add "kazarelth".

Thank you. This transmission ends.

Incomplete dreams.

2008-01-12T23:53:00.001+05:30

What is it about dreams and their incompletenes?
Waking from one to await its return the next instant. And still being very expectant about the outcome. Waiting for some more details of that face smiling at you, those eyes crying to you, and those lips talking to you. For that crowd that cheers you and your temple beating.
And yet that certain Voice telling you no. Stop. Stop.

My exams have started. And I am trying desperately to not back off my dear window. Still, a new year brought nothing to it. A few vivid memories and nothing more. Have a great day, subjects!

--------------------------
Kazarelth

FOR---

2007-12-31T20:14:00.000+05:30

SPPPPAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRTTTTTTAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Yes. Three Hundredth post. On the eve of New Year's. Therefore, this long time no postage.

Cocoon.

2007-12-04T18:19:00.000+05:30

Spreading over me,
My cold dark blue sheet,
Its dark hands caress
My frail frame with a
Hurt spirit within.

I clutch it about.
My frowning face as,
It hides beneath the,
Sapphire folds deep,
Finds temporary,
Yet blinding solace.

The cold stays inside,
Dull, decaying and,
Violated too.
And nothing prevents,
Those sullen words from,
Stay'ing inside.

However, they do.
Refusing to come,
Out openly thus.
Their master fallen,
Into a Maelstrom.

Captive of Insanity.

2007-11-27T21:37:00.003+05:30

And yet again, some ugly monstrosity jumps out of my keyboard.

Behold! The insanity unfolds.
Its catacombs filled with horrors,
Phobos' minions and Deimos' warriors.
And yet it's interiors marked,
By that skilled marksman of yore.

His arrows sharp, lithe, and thirsty.
He wanders through the maze with bow in hand.
A sharper eye on the lookout for easy prey.
The arrows whistle away from his fingers,
Their mouths entangle the hideous horde.

Another hysterical cry from their diamond captives,
And our hero follows his arrows' speed.
His hungry eyes see nothing but the gem.
He reaches out his arms, cutting the others without mercy.
Yet what's this he sees?

The rare gem is gone.
In its place is a new monstrosity.
A portal like the previous one.
To another crypt.
Does our hero take this challenge?

Don't we all see this surface of the sphere in our lives?
A circular figure without a centre.
And in the end, what is it that we really do?
That's the question, wanderer.
A randomly insane question-- of the hero, you and I.

Endless needs.

2007-11-23T23:12:00.001+05:30

And what more can I say? Am I too greedy?

Estel.

2007-11-12T16:26:00.000+05:30

As I prolong my stays in the Real World, invariably thinking against the laws of Normalcy, I await for something magical to happen in a few days' time.

But the catchword is the title of this post. I believe somethings happen all the time which we never anticipate. A single-minded purpose for something that occupies your mind; which you can never stop thinking about.
But what if it rested on a thousand peoples' shoulders? If, this veritable circuit had thousands of wires, each of which needed a separate key?
And what if, you knew, what if it did not happen the way you want it to happen; you know you will inevitably be depressed to such an extent that you might think of wasting away your life?

And here again, the word pervades orbits around what I wrote. Not wanting to reveal itself to anyone as what it is; except that it's a four letter word starting with "H", and ending with "E".
Maybe "hate" is the word I am looking for too. Not estel.

It was a dark and cold night....

2007-10-20T14:00:00.000+05:30

I believe that the “finer” points of Life (as ‘they’ kindle the ‘thought’ with a capital L) come to you when you’re least expecting them.

For example, the day before yesterday, I was sitting on the balcony, at eleven pm. The LCD burning a hole into my vision, as I kept chattering on with a lonely Lucifer and another lonely K.
Cold winds. Hmm? And a drunken fool on the street rhapsodising his masculine achievements -- to no one in particular.
Then a solitary crow that thought day broke when a strain broke off from the nearby shehnai, or a record of the strain breaking off from the shehnai severely distracted its reverie. It cawed mournfully, at what appeared to it (and to me) as a lachrymal requiem.
The drunk apparently caught on to it, and slurred about his lost love's tear drops. Or, maybe the wind carried that differently to me. He was slurring.

Then. I laughed. I laughed loudly. Yet not a sound came out of my lips. I was looking at the man. He was looking at me. I was laughing loudly.

It was... technically speaking, one of the most palpable way of insulting that drunkard. Spongebob looked despondent, as he could not hear his tormentor.
The crow, I believe also joined in on the fun -- Flapping its wings hurriedly, as it tried settling back on its perch.
The man finally went his way. Looking at me once.

Finer points, as I say. I am a wretched sadist who likes to be chained to a computer.

Happy Birthday.

2007-10-18T06:58:00.000+05:30

And so another year of my blog waddling in the blogosphere ends. Another happy, sad, morose, joyous, depressing, elating, momentous, trivial, vulnerable, invincible, year ends. And although it is hard to imagine me, a boy of fourteen sitting in front of my old computer’s screen typing out a half-plagiarised, half-imagined mini-manuscript on vampires, I can remember it so.
So, to all my friends who have always shared this part of the blogosphere with me, I raise a toast of chocolate.
Happy third Birthday, Fealdamar.

Things.

2007-10-16T09:20:00.001+05:30

It seems like a long time ago when I wrote last. Wrote for my dearest Fealdamar. Yes, a long time. A wondrous and cool morning calls on to me and I wake up for a bunch of sparrows making a nest to last them the winter. And here I am talking to all of you about whatever I missed and whatever I grew out of.

As I sit on the windowsill, looking out at a cloudy but calm sky which gives out vapours of chill down below. And the lake. It's been sometime since I've gone to the lake. Joyous whispers beckon me there, but I, the solemn little git that I am, refuse to go.
The reason? I do not know, Wanderer. I do not know.
Guests at home, guests everywhere. And I am expected to do what I must. And, as a very good friend of mine says: "It'll pass."
What shall, I may not know. I cling on to the desperate reality that I want to create. Is it fine?

2007-10-16T09:19:00.000+05:30

Alright. This post is filled to the brim with a helluva lot of Quizzes that you get on the net. Yes, I had nothing to do.
Yes. I am insane.

First... a personality test.

Your Personality Is

Rational (NT)

You are both logical and creative. You are full of ideas.
You are so rational that you analyze everything. This drives people a little crazy!

Intelligence is important to you. You always like to be around smart people.
In fact, you're often a little short with people who don't impress you mentally.

You seem distant to some - but it's usually because you're deep in thought.
Those who understand you best are fellow Rationals.

In love, you tend to approach things with logic. You seek a compatible mate - who is also very intelligent.

At work, you tend to gravitate toward idea building careers - like programming, medicine, or academia.

With others, you are very honest and direct. People often can't take your criticism well.

As far as your looks go, you're coasting on what you were born with. You think fashion is silly.

On weekends, you spend most of your time thinking, experimenting with new ideas, or learning new things.

The Three Question Personality Test

******************************
And my personality rarity thing.

Your Personality is Very Rare (INTP)

Your personality type is goofy, imaginative, relaxed, and brilliant.

Only about 4% of all people have your personality, including 2% of all women and 6% of all men
You are Introverted, Intuitive, Thinking, and Perceiving.

How Rare Is Your Personality?

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

People Envy Your Confidence

You have the attitude and self esteem to take on anything. Failure is beyond not an option for you - it doesn't even cross your mind.
People envy your ability to take on any challenge ... and they're secretly afraid you think you're better than them. You don't. You're just sure of yourself.

What Do People Envy About You?

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

You Are 100% Tortured Genius

You totally fit the profile of a tortured genius. You're uniquely brilliant - and completely misunderstood.
Not like you really want anyone to understand you anyway. You're pretty happy being an island.

Are You a Tortured Genius?

*Grins*

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

This is bad...

You Are 100% Bipolar

You have some serious ups and downs, maybe to the point of endangering your own life.
Consult a doctor to see if you may truly have bipolar disorder.

Are You Bipolar?

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

Your Wrath Quotient: 78%

Everyone around you pretty much fears your wrath... which is probably what you want.
But just remember, there's a very thin line between fear and hate!

How Much Wrath Do You Have?

HA!

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

You're Totally Sarcastic

You sarcastic? Never! You're as sweet as a baby bunny.
Seriously, though, you have a sharp tongue - and you aren't afraid to use it.
And if people are too wimpy to deal with your attitutde, then too bad. So sad.

How Sarcastic Are You?

*Grins like this certain cat.*

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

For all sad words on tongue or pen, the saddest are these: "It might have been."

2007-09-21T17:01:00.000+05:30

Ah. Finally it is here. The first proper "serious essay" I have written. It's a little violent in its imagery. You've been warned.

Humanity’s greatest sufferings have brought about the greatest works of al time.
Not in vain has it been said that it is because of the darkest nights do we appreciate the mornings. We go through a period of sorrow to understand the concept of “joy”.

However, what happens when the shroud of darkness permanently veils our vision of the shimmering ocean of joy? Does the man, once proud and tall, duck and cower at the face of blindness? Alternatively, does he, instead, appeal to his own genius and break free of the black bonds that bestow upon him the brand of ‘submissive’.

Either of the choices is open to him, each leading him through a murky forest of uncertainties, dangers and end-points. This journey becomes the fuel of the man’s own intellect, and his Self is propelled by this journey through the forest. (Very few men or women have “nothing” written under their “Best Intellectual Quality” of their résumé.) Thus their opening, their only window to the worlds, becomes their saviour during their time of distress.

For a certain sect of them, writing becomes an obsession; a singular fetish to write becomes an engine, surviving due to the only thing that is killing them.
They Write. Stories, poems, and lyrics pour out of their enflamed minds, and become a reflection of their own visages; contorted with pain and mortified with the angst within. The veneer of (and by) torture blackens their outlook on life; yet as Warriors of Light they transform their own writing to sear through the mantle that chains their figure to the ground. These sad, painful words, disguised as ebon arrows, reveal themselves as the multicoloured shafts of light that they are… to the truest Seekers. But what happens, when without so much so as a mere whisper, these valiant attempts seep away from their existence?

The verdict is Regret.

Regret carves into a person’s flesh like a bullet through melting butter. The “worst form of defeat”, as it has been rightly put. It swathes the Man’s surroundings and he becomes invisible to the rest of the world. His condition is akin to a prisoner encased in a dungeon of oblivion. He cries himself hoarse and not even his echo reaches his ears.
The worst form of insanity creeps unto him; which deploys itself as paranoia against everything he ever stood for, becoming a defiled pool in which his eyes do not see his own face, but the monster, which personifies his own. At this, he becomes a slave to those unseen captors, a definitive thrall who knows not his own words – immune to those few drops of wine he himself brewed and aged.

And those, who once knew his fire, who once knew what he was capable of and who once knew the mettle, view his condition – as a martyr of his skirmish through Life; or as the chained and whipped exhibit and wonder (with sadness profound) if this indeed was who they knew.

And they – his mentors, his friends, his loves see not what he did create before his final, decisive defeat. They can only see an untrue picture of the Man. How imposing and magnificent he might have been if he found the strength to deliver himself from his bondage. Their bland and passion-less words of sorrow overshadow his own conquests over his demons. They are forgotten in the calm after the fiery storm.

They just say what he might have been… or he, he slave, sees is own life and wonders at what he could have been. The sorrow that follows these wispy words can only be fathomed, not described.

The villanelle of the lost strain.

2007-09-18T18:34:00.000+05:30

Ah, well. I know I haven't written much of anything for sometime. I hope I get back into the "Bloggy" mood in the coming days.
For now, look through this uh... villanelle. {The third I have written and the first I thought was fit for my blog. Heh.}

[Yes. It does rhyme. Faintly. Go wiki Villanelle if you must.]

The music, it plays in my ears.
The fretted dulcimer strums-
I can hear it still, after all these years.

The instrument calls forth the wizards,
Wizened as they are; and they create poems.
The music, it plays in my ears.

Tones that fabricate clothes for words,
As I hear it weave wayward anthems.
I can hear it still, after all these years.

A song built for standards,
Its timbre befitting Kingdoms.
The music, it plays in my ears.

The poems latch on like lizards,
Onto their voluntary victims.
I can hear it still, after all these years.

And this, to me, is one of the richest vineyards-
The dimension of all Freedoms.
The music, it plays in my ears:
I can hear it still, after all these years.

Resurge

2007-09-06T14:02:00.000+05:30

A resurge is what you call it.
When you suddenly find something that was lost in you.
Maybe it was addiction... or maybe it was just plain... something else.

Either way. I have become happier recently. I re-found something that gives me immense pleasure.

Thank you for all those who bore with me the last few months.

Blogmeet part II. Epilogue: It was awesome.

2007-08-27T19:25:00.000+05:30

Blogmeet.
The word flitted lightly over the three, nay four, participants. It was as if it was supposed to be something. Yet it turned out into a different thing.
Some thing, nevertheless.
Therefore, it was when after natural selection, four members of the near-blogosphere came forward to this meet.

First, the Prince disembarks from his mode of transport and crosses a (insert some wordy word describing Elgin Road traffic) road, and walks with a lilt in his toes towards what appears to be a woman without eyes. No, wait. She did have them. Sharky’s eyes were just hiding themselves behind her new sunglasses.

Oho Intro!

Sharky is, of course, Lucid Darkness. A self-proclaimed daydreaming procrastinator. Who was shown a certain picture by Luci(fer) before they met. Now, the details of that photograph can only be described in a bunch of words to the effect of: fat Lucifer + red cape + The Unimaginably Horrid Super-Mega-Ultra Squirt Gun ™.

Yes, well. I really did pity the Shark. After all, we anti-social animals have to be coerced quite grandly to agree upon this… meet.

Well. I could just laugh, I laughed a lot, yes. Especially when I heard Sharky trying to comprehend the migratory instincts of the cumulus class clouds. {Yes. Alliteration. Forgive me, it’s all her fault.}

And then comes Lucifer. He is all… non-er … wookie-ish. Well.

(*Tries desperately to hide laughter*).

He shoves me almost into Sharky in what can be termed fairly as “pouncing”.

Ah. Well… we subtly swore an oath to take up chocolate as our breakfast, even though each one of the crowd with a pained expression on his/her face declared that they had already had their breakfast.

But. Chocolate.

We trot to the nearby Café Coffee Day, trying vainly to break Monsieur Shy’s shyness. Yet, well the fact that Luci did have a weird ‘ragging’ in his new college was funny. And the ragging incident was hilarious. Moreover, I and Sharky snorting ungraciously was more hilarious.

Then Sharky, true to her given name, confessed that she felt uncomfortable without water, and drank around twelve cups (minus two of mine) of water. The cups were tiny.

After a whole lot of chocolate, we went to the Crossword bookstore. And I shamelessly asked for Venus in Furs in print. {Yes, well…}

That happened after I pounced at a seat next to the SF section.

(Sniggers).

THEN we run to the top of the bookstore. Because Miss Shark resolved to annoy some staff member and ran away before the poor man realised what hit him. We run collectively. I still do not understand why we all ran together. Nevertheless, we did.

We ran directly to the gaming section. Ah. Apologies. Lucifer and I (oh, did I mention? He has a weakness for one Mister I.H.M’s jazz poetry. I shall give you the link too, if you have some devious construction in your mind.) We drool over some games and some movies before Luci and Sharky think it would be worthwhile trying to woo me into their personal world of pretty ponies and factitious fairies by showing me their most favourite pink princess movies. Yes, well. They pointlessly tried to deign me.

And then Sharky enthralled the bookstore with her Jerry Mouse Laugh ®.

Well… Lucifer and I were in splits. That needs a recording Mademoiselle Jedi.

(Grins)

Also, at this point of time I decide to challenge Shark to hit me. In addition…there was this er—chasing around the top floor followed by a child being scolded for touching something and a few raised eyebrows. {Mothers of children in these fairy sections. Meh.}

Then she hits. Hard. I shall not say what happened after that.

Hmm.

Well… no. After this we, the Blogosphere veterans of yore protested against Enrique (bleh) Iglescxvgusfd songs being played.

Yeah. We sat down on the floor comfortably ‘til one of the staff members politely said: “Sir, you are not supposed to sit here.”

And I, in my most atrociously innocent manner replied “Oh?”

Rhetoric. Ha.

Then. We waited for Shreya. She was expected and she came. And we discussed kittens, mice, and oodles of someone else.

(Tries vainly to stifle laughter.)

Also picture were taken. Which maybe put online. Then Luci was shooed off after we had a sickly lunch of a “big” Veg. Pizza. Oh, yeah. It was filling and huge.

Bleh.

And,then we realised that a communist, a capitalist, a dictatorial authoritarian and a laywoman had been sitting together. Hmm…

Exit Luci.

Then we talked nothingness. And… went to have a last drink at Forum.

Then the clones {Sharky and I} decided to go down an up escalator, much to the chagrin of Shreya and a few janitors, while I sniggered after hearing a lecture from one of them. Ah, well… it was fun. HAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Then a long trek {“No, it’s just five minutes from here. I know the way. Just five.”} to the Metro station. Blah.

Oh, I then realised something-that-I-cannot-say-lest-Sharky-decides-to-put-cats-into-her-favourite-cuisine.

(Tries to stifle stupid laughter again.)

Somethings.

2007-08-23T19:22:00.000+05:30

If I were to say that I am happy, it would not be an understatement; even if it were not true.
I am not happy in the truest sense of the word.
There are times when you do feel a string of emotions one after another, and at the end of the day (and the start of the next), you cannot determine what it is that you feel.
It is definitely not a blank stare at a wall. It is an unworthy enough replication of nothingness.
Contradicted by a few facts.
Hmm. I do not make much sense now.
In any case… I have nothing great to say.
Exams are over, of course. Not done well, I am afraid.
My Desktop is back. Yes. Upgraded.
I used Damn Small Linux {Abbreviated very conveniently as DSL}, and browsed the net with Firefox loaded on it.
So… you could hope to see the return of a long awaited story. However… I might have better plans. Hehe.

Tags and others.

2007-08-20T17:03:00.000+05:30

It feels helpless, yeah. Not being able to write.
So, well... get to the tag game.
Two tags.

D's tag: The Judgement.

I judge people who have less-than-a-degree of intelligence.
I judge those who are characterless. A character maketh everything. Leeches are... heh.
I judge persons who think being proud is bad.
I judge those who believe that men should never bow down to women.
I judge people who disdainfully look upon something or hate something without knowing anything about it.
I judge monumental second-handers.

So, that is that.. heh.
Not much of an opinion hmm?

Now for Sharky's tag: Ten things I wish to learn someday.

1.) To be calm and composed when faced with unjustified mockery.

2.) To understand humanity as a whole.

3.) To organise myself to suit other people's needs.

4.) To subtly tell someone that he/she is a leech.

5.) To strongly oppose a group with another strong group of my own.

6.) To decrease my rudeness in Real Life and increase it online.

7.) To write proper rhyming poetry.

8.) To keep up promises of writing a certain article.

9.) To stop being a dilettante.

10.) To start accepting a few facts of my own.

***--***

Evidently, I mocked this tag. *Sigh*.

Not happy.

2007-08-19T21:16:00.000+05:30

Heal and flow.

Is it a wonderful feeling? No.
And no... I am not happy.

Friendship: Days after its Day.

2007-08-09T06:37:00.000+05:30

A lot of time and effort is used up when saying something worthwhile, isn’t it? And to do something equally praiseworthy, is something unreal.

I walked the Lake with one of my closest friends ever the night before yesternight. It was… to say the least, an experience. One to cherish ever long. It has seated itself on a throne of treasure in the backseat of memory.
I may forget what we talked about; I may forget what we laughed about; I may forget what we were sad about; I may forget the first owl I have ever seen in real life; I may forget the ever soothing darkness calling us with the fireflies leading the way; I may forget the pathways through which we walked, seeing those flying flowers.

But, friend, I will never forget that one day I walked this lake with you at night.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

And yesterday, I suppose I added another ‘good’ friend to my petite inventory. In addition, I think this is possibly the shortest time in which I have done that with a ‘new friend’.
I think it was because I talked as I have never talked. All this while, I just listened to so many people. Talking, now that, gave me a new and highly weird sense of dis-blankness.
I can’t say anything much. It’s… a new thing to me.
Just a heart-felt “Thank You.”
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

My examinations have begun, and I think I have been doing sort of well. They shall end by the twenty-second.
So, Fealdamar has declared a State of War.
Haha.

The Diamante of a lost Astronomer.

2007-07-29T18:32:00.000+05:30

Yes, one of my favourite poetic forms.
And my listlessness.

Clouds.
Wispy and windy
Darkly covering, and deeply devouring
The moonless shining stars of the sunless dreamy night
The entropic light agitated and devoured into infinity and beyond
The sinless sparkling rain of the morning, shining silver.
Now deeply decimating and raucously eating
Sharp and silvery
Stars.

Computopia or something.

2007-07-20T16:53:00.001+05:30

Suddenly something after a long time. I know.
Ramble. Rant et cetra

So. Today was a computer exhibition day. And I put up something I manage to type out in two days. Hah. Seeing the quality of exhibits, mine was rather compatible. Even if some fish comes and tells us that it "is no big deal to do it..."
Oh yes. I am not happy about this. However, I would like to see where his attitude goes when the School's website with my preoject goes online. Heh.

So... well... ahem.
THE PROJECT:
An interactive cartograph {The_One: "I have serious doubts about this word...". Alarond: "Put it in!"} of my school's campus. The user basically hovers his/her mouse over an area element {such as the main school building} and a javascript function shows a transparent preview of the image of that specific building. {Similar to the SnapShots thing I have here.}
The user clicks on it and he/she is transported to another page where a flash file loads a rather large picture of that building to be panned and zoomed by the user.

Quirky JS's peppered randomly.

THE TEAM:
Alarond: Teh mappist. Teh cartographer. Teh Guy Who Doodled.
The_One: Teh photographer. Teh photomanipulated. Teh Guy Who Had The Camera.
Prince Kazarelth {3rd person is sort of nice...}: Teh CodeLord {Err... CodePrince}. Teh HTML Cat. Teh Guy Who Knew HTML and Javascript.

THE SETTING-UP:
{Snatches of conversation as the Prince remembers... Edited and suitably modified for family viewing.}
Alarond: "Have you coded stuff yet?"
Me: "Err. Well... it's over. And now here me out. 'Computers are an integral part of our existence today... whether for browsing, gaming, spreadsheets or wracking our'-- don't you think 'blogging' should be added?"
Alarond (Haugtily) : "I wrote that speech."
Me (Riposte) : "So? I am speaking it."
The_One: "Err. I think this computer should be swapped. The power cords are--"
Me (Deliberately pronouncing each word's syllable) : "--In short... liv-ing a life to-day would-'ve been far less enj-oy-ab-le if not for this es-sen-tial com-mod-ity--"
Alarond: "Don't, man. It's alright. Remove the UPS plug and do it."
Me (Randomly): "Y'know. I think the word 'exist' is apt. I live for gaming... Oh... where was I?"
The_One: "No.. I mean. It would be unsafe. *Looks over at me* What are you blabbering?"
Me (Distractedly): "Wha--? Oh. Inaugural idiocy."
The_One (Amused): "You are doing the speech?"
Alarond (Indifferently): "He'll mess up. Duh."

(The rest of the setting up process has too many things to edit out. The essence could unfortunately not be squeezed out from the flowery language used.)

THE APPRECIATION and questions: {And the replies}
"Wow" {"Thank you"}
"Amazing" {"Thanks"}
"Er... what software did you use?" {"Notepad, Mozilla Composer... uh... Flash thing."}
"H'm... where did you download this from?" {"My brain. And parts from the internet"}
"Y'know... people have done this..." {"Oh. So you've seen this before? Good. Now disappear. You're unnecessarily polluting the space for other visitors."}
"Why did you do this?" {"Yuuzhan Vong hordes were battering my ship. The only way to escape was to do this."
"Does this have a game built into it?" {"Yes... click the mouse around each building to score points."}
"This does not look like a game..." {"Oh. No. It's a secret transmitting station linked with one of the old Iridium satellites. Isn't that cool?"}

THE MEET:
Ahem. Sharky had been invited.
And. We met.
And. We talked.
And. She threatened to kill me because I called her a "midget" [because she called me a 'tree'].
And. Lacuna Coil was mentioned.
And. Another death threat was posted.
And. Retreat happened.

THE SELF APPRECIATION
Alarond: "Let us do the Benhur drink-thing."
Me: "Err... we are enemies."
Alarond: "So what? They betray each other in the end, anyway."

The_One: "Amazing coding!"
Me: "Thank you.."

Me: "I pwn all."
Me: "So do I."

THE END
Uh. "Duh"?

Teh Photopost.

2007-07-06T15:29:00.000+05:30

Photopost of the rains and what not... enjoy!

Incy Wincy Spider. by ~haryonkazarelth

Spiders are nice, Wanderer. They are very nice.

**********

The cat got stuck in the rain. by ~haryonkazarelth

Poor thing... Aww. It got stuck in the rain!
**************

The Lake by ~haryonkazarelth
The lake that I keep telling you all about...

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

Rainy day part 1 by ~haryonkazarelth

Rainy day part 2 by ~haryonkazarelth

The rain outside... the calm inside.

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

A mynah by ~haryonkazarelth

A Mynah checks itself after the downpour. It's beautiful.. isn't it?

A crow by ~haryonkazarelth

The poor crow got drenched... Aww.

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

Spots on green by ~haryonkazarelth

Spots on a blade of grass. Aren't they pretty?

***********

And lastly...

Beauty in black and gold by ~haryonkazarelth

The excitement at what. {Also known as: the Prince has finally crossed the very thin line to insanity}

2007-07-04T16:55:00.000+05:30

To hell with every one of you who don't think fountain pens are alluring and devastatingly gorgeous.

Yes. Fountain pens are very sexy.
Especially if you use a perfectly constructed specimen of black-and-gold beauty after an interim of three whole years. It seems you almost fall in love with it's striking *hotness*.

Yes! I rummaged through a large aluminium box to find my collection of pens.

Perseverance pays off, my dear Wanderer. It pays off quite well. After a long and hard struggle with the Box [Which included eleven bruises of varying redness and six dents of varying sizes on each duellist’s side. {One bruise by an extra nudge on the box + bruise resulting in angry reply to dent the box = two bruises + one dent} – {the last missing bruise on the author’s skin is attributed to sensibility on author’s part – he used a large kitchen appliance to dent said piece of metal. Severely.} And a good deal of cries and clonks defining anger, pain, victory or plain stupidity from both tormentor and tormented {who is who… is negotiable. *Ahem*}], I finally found the treasure. THE TREASURE! I tell you. So many, deadly, instruments of writing within my grasp.

I take the best pick. The ebon bodied beauty with a gold nib.

Makes you feel like a megalomaniac. Makes you jump with glee every time ink blots suddenly adorn your rather beautiful-looking handwriting. Makes you whoop for joy when you run out of ink and have to refill. Makes you forget everything but the Pen, and the Paper, and you and the table.

Makes you write a blog-post on paper. Just because you loved writing all of this down.

Makes you dream with your eyes glued firmly to the figurine of singular beauty {*}.

And what where the first words written after the first refill?

"Kiss your torturer."

*Grins manically*

{Good heavens! I am transforming into something so... dangerously insane!}

Eight things.

2007-07-02T09:02:00.000+05:30

Lucid Darkness tagged me. Thank you very much Jedi. It was appreciated and highly commended. [/sarcasm]

And so, here it is. The topic of the tag is
EIGHT SIMPLE THINGS ABOUT ME.
{Things like these are not simple. I am a simple person, but describing me simply is hard, simply because it’s me. So…}

A note: A few points are basically the same as LD’s. So I shall not repeat them, except one. {The points are : 1, 2, 3, 4, 6 {Yes. I have to, too.}, and 7}

1.) I am a narcissistic, self centred, egomaniacal, arrogant lunatic. And, I am proud of this.

2.) (This follows the first point) I don’t give half a damn about most humans.

3.) I am a dreamer, and so I like fantasy, science fiction and RPGs.

4.) I love chocolates. So much so that I refuse my best friends point-blank when requested for a piece. I have a murky fetish {Yes. I did use that word.} for dark, bitter chocolate.

5.) I have a severe obsession with kisses, and lips. {Yes. You may leave now.}

6.) I am a Sadomasochist. I am very, very conceited of this. You may definitely stop coming to this blog. I couldn’t care less. The masochistic part has a lot to do with the words "Mistress", "Whip", and "Slave".

7.) I am excessively reckless.

8.) I am love with my blog and my writings. With the blogosphere, in general too. I don’t know what I would’ve been now if not for this blog. It has shaped me into this… form. And, I love it.

And I tag...

PP; Devanshi; and Aas

Astronomy again.

2007-06-28T18:08:00.000+05:30

Stargazing again.

It's been quite some time now. My poor Asterope had been gathering dust.
So, I decided yesternight that I shall have to go upstairs.

And therein I saw the most magestic heavens ever displayed to me. It was a power-cut in my area when I went upstairs. Around 9:40 PM.
And here are the list of things I saw:

SATURN! Which appeared to spin like a top!

**---**

VENUS! Which was too bright to understand...

**---**

ANTARES! Red and red.

**---**

M8! And it was blurred.

**---**

M57! And it was funnily done.

And that's the end!

Being Lost

2007-06-14T21:35:00.000+05:30

I have been alone. For a lot of time, I have been alone. So much so that I have started loving it. It has been something for me. I feel as a companion... to Loneliness. Paradoxical? Maybe. More so, I have this claustrophobic constriction when I am with people.
Even my best friends, in one room would create a psychological wall. I wouldn't want to talk to anyone.
That's why... maybe {as I once said to one of my blogger friends here (let's see if that person can remember!) I was a peripheral drifter (or maybe that person told me... I really don't remember!) in parties}

That previous line should tell you something about how inanely twisted and random my thought-process has become..
I have become a hungry shell. Devoid of my writing abilities. Tormented. Tortured. My pen... ah it's... incomplete. The sentence.
Although, the blogosphere was a respite. I don't know. I really don't know. I am becoming random. Too random. Volatile and random. Et cetra. That.

I ask you, my dear citizens. Am I mad? Or am I just so volatile that.. I indeed do not know what I am.

What am I, my readers? What am I? A dilettante?

I was asked to write this, by a good friend of mine.
Thank you.

A walk.

2007-06-02T18:53:00.000+05:30

Alright people. I know you've been anticipating my next chapter. But, unfortunately, my main comp. went kaput. {No.... I was not tinkering with the hard-drive's diskpartitions! It wasn't me. At least... not directly....}

And, I had been... going around with a heavy heart.

Which explains what I was doing all alone in the Lake... when everyone seemed to be having fun.
Just me, though. Music in my ears, as I walked the stretch of the Lake. Trying to walk away all my fears, my lies, my monstrous habits.
And then, I find myself, a week later surrounded by people I know, and I trust completely. Those that can never break me. I walk, feeling very safe, very honest, and very benign.

Talking about a mutual friend who was following us with her sister, I open myself, finally. I am a doubtful person... always. And a good strong friendship with people, I've always wanted. However, deep rooted bonds are very painful to fish out once they are broken.
But, it was natural, to say the least. A natural... conversion of sorts. And she understood me... for what I was.

And, we talked a lot about our mutual friend... one of the few soul-friends too, incidentally.

And we talked.

The long flyover passed beneath us twice with ease... and then the goodbyes as I retreated to my house.

Which does not explain why I couldn't remember what she told me about him when he asked me today, two days later.
Heh...

I am a weird person.

Ignorance. Part I

2007-05-22T21:46:00.000+05:30

A [hopefully] three part story. This is part one. Ehh. Sci-fi. For one, it's an expansion of what I wrote for last year's composition.
Enjoy!

Namayra Slendon stood up as a tall man walked into her office. She raised her eyebrows as she watched the man sit down in a huff without asking for her permission. He randomly took out file-papers from a rather pompous looking file and threw them at her desk.

"Here you go." He sneered, "The 'evidence' you need."

"Oh?" She did not change her expression, "And, what are these, Councillor?"

"Communication hack-reports received by our spies in Earth."

"Hack-reports are by no means a--"

"Yes they are! And, if you can't open your eyes to see--"

"Enough Councillor! The Right hand of the Seraphim Selene cannot be spoken to with such rabid indiscipline. I will see to this personally. Now I ask you to leave." She pointed a long manicured finger towards her door.

Geharius Tuillen saw her roughly. Nevertheless, he tore through the door; the sliding door almost ripping off his shoulder cloth. He was a senior member of the Council of the Lunar Senate, and was not used to the Right Hand speaking rudely to him.

The doors slid close, and Namayra put her head down on the table, and wondered just when did all this start. It never seemed so bad when the old Humanity finally started expanding outward. Those old vids didn't seem so bad, did they? The first colonists' Leader proudly shaking hands with the three Consuls of Earth. They were all laughing. A few lightseconds couldn't stop a few determined humans from crossing boundaries. Even when it meant leaving the [still] lush green Earth behind to the cold, grey Moon.

Then... terraformation. Moulding the Moon into something new. Something with lush green forests too. Something that would be enhanced with the recent years’ discovery of helping the trees of Earth grow fast, and freely.

Suddenly, the Moon, as seen from the Earth, acquired a new, green hue. No longer did children look for "The Man on the Moon". And, a few low-key protests which died down easily, used this as their 'tag'. Saying things that "Amateur Astronomy will die another death! Stop Terraformation!!"

But, they were highly short-sighted. Boys used their telescopes to see newer developing areas. Sometimes receiving a friendly Area Laser from the workers stationed there. This, in turn, called for more children using their instruments spanning the night sky to the moon. On the way they would get distracted with a few Deep Sky Objects, and become great adherents to Astronomy.

Although the Government of the Moon and the Earth had a pleasant relationship for over 3 centuries, the cordiality had somewhat lessened in recent years, after a mass emigration from Earth to Mars and the planets beyond. The others had formed Confederations and drowned in barbaric fundamentalism. Earth, sensing an imminent war, ordered the Lunar Senate to provide additional troops.

This did not go down well with the Senators. Especially the Seraphim Selene. He, as with all capitalising selfish men, ordered an Ignorance Order-- The first ever in the history of the Existence-States of Earth and Moon. He simply chose to not ‘understand’ Earth’s. Orders. Technically, the Moon inhabitants were still just a ‘colony’ to Earth. However, they had grown to be self reliant. Thus leading to their own ‘independence agreement’ signed the day the Ignorance Order was issued.
Earth – immobile in the face of a revolt nearby, could do nothing against this. A few Old Colonists sued for violence. Yet the Government chose a more sane option, and avoided a potentially weakening rebellion crush.

Three days on, Moon was Free. Not that the inhabitants had any qualms about them being under the rule of Earth, being independent attached a significance to them. All of historical Earth’s greatest nations gained their independence from a capitalist country. And they all celebrated it with great fervour every year. The inhabitants, attracted by the billing of ‘historical’ to the value of their existence raised a toast to their own Freedom. Or at least the way the word was sounded.

That was thirteen years ago. The Right Hand reminded herself.

Luna had never looked back on its path. She tried telling herself. Trying to sound melancholic, energetic, proud – all the necessary attachments reserved for such a phrase; yet finding nothing. She crumpled back to her assignments. Elections were coming up. The Opposition had sounded extremely forthright when they zealously spoke that they shall hold out against the barbarians of Mars and Juno-belt. The navy of the moon was small; barely enough to hold out against an Ochre Class Orbital Assault: the name given to medium-to-large rebellion crushing armada. A third of the size of the Small Planet Invasion armada.

Yet, she knew, the Opposition knew their statistics well. They could not be bluffing so blatantly.

“All said and done, they’ve managed to baffle me…” she murmured to herself whilst copying the papers’ information to her workstation. A stream of data flowed through her screen, as the computer caught related pieces and organised them into a mindmap for ease of use. She sent back the blank papers to the holders and saw the files’ mind unfold. She was very disturbed. The hack reports, usually unconnected with each other, were showing eerie coincidences.

***

“And, why would we want this to happen? Luna has secured its economic position. No imports. None at all. On the contrary, we are the ones who are importing from them. Don’t you see how sickening this is?”

“Not really. We are building up to a peaceful solution, sir. The Martian colonists--”

“Colonists? Colonists? They are barbaric extremists! They think they can go the Moon way. They call for Freedom and Liberty. Freedom and Liberty from what? From us? Whenever did we bind them with chains?”

“Export Laws, sir.” The young neuter slowly replied.

“Export Laws? Now you are sounding like those demented ‘liberalists’” the senior man derided. “We have never imposed them so harshly that they take up arms… And, in any case, we can easily crush them.”

“Sir? Crush a rebellion?” Trier sounded incredulous. “Earth has always put on an affable portrait to everyone. And, now…”

“Now, what? You’re afraid about the oncoming elections? Ha!” The old man scoffed yet again.

No sir. I am afraid that our own people will rebel against this. We are… already low on resources.”

“Resources? We are still the wealthiest of the planets in terms of energy, food--”

“Human resources, sir. We don’t control our own people sufficiently. The Coalition Governments of our own planet are showing signs of… falling apart, you know…”

The old man frowned. He did not want to show this. He was a man of power, and even with his closest aides, there was this distance he had to maintain to safeguard his plans. And this aide was finding flaws in his plans… his perfect plans.

“Come, now…” the man genially smiled, “we are straying from the topic now aren’t we Trier? Ehh, the elections are coming up, aren’t they? So… go prepare my introductory speech.”

The neuter let out a faint sigh. “Yes, sir. I will…”

“And… eh… put up some of that stuff you’ve told me now, won’t you? Something like a ‘spicing up’ if I might say so.” He smiled again.

“Of course, sir.” Trier tried to smile, failed miserably, and walked out in a hurry.

Five reasons why I blog

2007-05-16T13:40:00.000+05:30

Well. Meenakshi tagged me. Again... {Not my fault, really. The last one, I completely forgot. Honest!}
So... well. The meme is Five reasons why you blog.

Because this is my outlet to the world, and I can hate it as much as I can here, without worrying about repercussions.
Because I can lay out my memories properly, and try {yes... try} to get rid of them, in any way I want, and no on is here to stop me.
So that I can link up with like minded people, who can understand me, and share their own ideas well. {Actually, this is the most important one of them all. One reason to rule them all...}
Because I can hide behind a mask and throw out my innermost thoughts to everyone.
Because it's the best way to kill a long and boring day? {!}

And, I tag:

PP --- Lucifer --- Alarond --- The_One --- Devanshi [And Aas, if she can]

News. Rambles: DeviantArt and Flock

2007-05-15T15:27:00.001+05:30

Alright, people. I am not deat yet.

I have just been snooping around for sometime... and have finally found a browser to my liking. {Yes... better than Firefox. Although, technically, it's still Firefox... anyway}

AND, I have finally put some amount of working up in my DeviantArt page. I have put up almost all of my poetry there. {The URL will also be put up in one of the sidebars. Keep waiting!}

Most probably will also put up a few pictures of the moon there. {Now there's a good idea... Hmmm}

Oh, and... I am writing this from my Flock Blog editor. So. That's nice...

And, if you are a DeviantArt member: COMMENT!

If you aren', become one -- that site has never failed to satisfy me.

April

2007-05-11T22:10:00.000+05:30

And so, I am writing to explain what happened over the course of last month.
Dreary, it was.
Nevertheless, now—I am in a better condition: to narrate what went wrong. Although, I will tell you, it might sound very incoherent. {As always…}

Remember, wanderer. This is a classified RANT. It’s long. It’s weird. And it will definitely bore anyone but my most intimate soul-friends. {Yes. I consider people who Know me to be that. Suggestiveness be damned.}

Well, well. Where shall I start? From the worst birthday ever or the worse starting bout of school ever?
Ehm. I am touching on the points, and I will definitely not reveal everything here, just in case you were thinking so, sojourner.
The very fact that I was feeling … caged, is enough evidence to promote the fact that I have been feeling controlled over the last month. And, that everyone seems to acknowledge the identity crisis (that the “oh-so-brittle teenagers undergo…”), but nobody seems to really care about. Recognition is one thing. Paying attention to the fact that one has recognised is another thing. When you recognise a fact, {for example, the fact that the you have been playing a game too long.} you don’t necessarily have to care about it, {you really don’t want to save the game now}.

Everything seems to be happening wrongly now. Whatever happens: blame it on my concentration. Rather, the lack of it.

You forget to keep the pen you used to write down a number—“Look at you! You forgot to keep the pen back in its place. You don’t have any amount of concentration…”

You forget to fold the wire and tie it up using the given metal—“Look at you! You forgot to fold the wire. You don’t have any amount of concentration…”

You forget to call up at an event—“Look at you! Why can’t you do remember simple things like these? You don’t have any amount of concentration…”

And. The inevitable. You get improper marks in your examinations—“I told you so many times to concentrate more. You never listened…”

When, exactly, did you tell me to ‘improve’ my concentration?

And, what, exactly, did you tell me when I got ‘proper’ marks?
A grunt. And nothing else.

I agree. I have to study for myself. So. I get to pat myself on the back, as well as whip the same. You can’t just do one, and ignore the other thing, can you?

And then come the doofi whom I have as ‘friends’.
Scene One:- {After two minutes of [Listening to the person concerned’s] talking}
“Oh, yes! You are my best-est friend in the entire universe.”
Me (In typical politeness): “But… how can you claim that. I don’t even know you, erm, well…”
“What are you saying Kaushik? We know each other for such a long time!”
Me: “… You don’t really want to know me. Now, please, stop claiming stupidly.”

Scene Two:-
Horrified: “I never knew that you were…”
Me (This was my ‘n’th encounter, and I was still typically baffled. I am a very slow learner I am afraid): “Er. I thought you considered me a friend, ‘for what I am’…”
Horrified: “Yes. No. I mean. How can you --- be an SM?”
Me : “Do I even show it off? I thought you would take it in…”
Horrified: “Get away from me. Geez!”

I stay away. Away from friendship. For all that I know. I am a beautiful, selfish, vile, confident, insane, awful, awesome, great person. And, I am narcissistic.
So. Glad to see you here. Near the end. How bad was April?

Real bad.

And, I still never learn from mistakes.

The story of stupid friendship…

2007-05-08T18:47:00.000+05:30

That’s what I’ll call it. People thinking that I am the greatest friend that they have ever had. Alright. It is nice… in a way.

But think of it. Would you like to be treated in a way in which you seem to be used?

Undaunted Season.

2007-04-28T22:10:00.000+05:30

What started off as a personal post attempt, materialised into a story and then got deleted to a Diamante.
One of my weirdest, I must say.
Also more due to the recent shower.

Rain,
Hoping forgetting,
Pouring debilitating, freeing escaping,
Droplets reflecting, mirky skies, resounding whispers,
Darkness enshrouding, cloaking disappearing, waiting wanting, golden mantle,
Reflecting droplets, mirthing skies, echoing vapours,
Misty morning, freeing escaping,
Needing remembrance,
Sunlight.

Still Sore.

2007-04-23T16:51:00.000+05:30

Still sore. As you can see.
Read on, wanderer if you want to hear me ramble.
Although I do warn you, it will be incoherent. Completely.

Something that no other defeat has ever done to me.
It has never left me sore. Licking my wounds, yes.
But never sore.
And then, there is another thing that I have never done after a defeat.
I have never ever sensed myself losing my sanity.
At least for more than a year, now.
Another year will go past, and more imbalance will set forth.
My fortitude is slipping to negative numbers.
Heh, sometimes I do feel I should just let myself be unaffected by things that happen around me.
But what if those things happen with me?

Zwarte Draak

2007-04-17T18:15:00.000+05:30

Sometimes I just wish I stopped writing.
Because it actually enhances my anger.
In any case. I will vow never to write poetry,
Someday...

Mm. Asymmetric poetry.Here, at least.
Hatred.
Anyway.

Black Dragon spouting darkness.
That is what I am, in humanoid form: powerless.
My wings are chained with rainbow-chains;
My breath cooled by white snow.
Alone in this great white dungeon.
I live my life.

Wearied I am now.
Of these insane captors.
Who underestimate me.
My powers.
My wings.
My breath.

What am I to do?
Now.
At least?

One day I shall rise.
My blackness covering their white lands.
Devouring their colour.
Killing them all with one mighty smite.
'Til then.
I wait.

Sleep and..

2007-04-13T16:59:00.000+05:30

Being entranced in a dream.

I was playing along enthusiastically.
It's not often that I get recurring dreams.

And it's not often that I can mould these recurring dreams with free will.

I am a dreamer.

That is all.

Birth...

2007-04-11T00:22:00.000+05:30

Another year. Another growing up-thing.
Goodbye 16. Hello Seventeen!

Seventeen years of existence. And now. I am looking forward to the day.
As such, a day of peace.
And a day of change.

Who knows what will happen?
But I am sure something is bound to. Isn't that why birthdays are special?

Does anybody have a bloody compass?

2007-04-08T13:17:00.000+05:30

I suppose I have lost my bearings.
Eh, well. To think that people actually thought I was suffering a 'crisis' of sorts when they read my previous post.
And if you people could not understand it. Even after my replies to you. It's different.

For now, I am bored.

Oh. Yes. School is about to start.
"Oh woe!"
And other things. Especially the fact that I am suffering a back-log of work.
Damn!
And then the nagging sound of my mind asking me to go on and make an observation because the sky is very clear.
Damn it!
Also, the very fact that I am still very morose. {No. Please don't say anything about this unless you have a very fair idea about it.}
In addition, I have to end at least the original Neverwinter Nights campaign.
Damn that, too.
And now you ask me what am I doing online damning every damnable thing?
I don't know. I seriously don't know.
I have lost my bearings.

Soul in Emergency

2007-04-06T11:25:00.000+05:30

Walking down the lake again with a few friends. I tried not to come. But a very slight cajoling took me away.
I wanted to escape; thoroughly escape.
"Somethings are best left alone" I told myself.
It was not one of those great days, was it?

Ein Vogel gleitet uebers Wasser.
Doch er sieht mich nicht.

Hearing one of those great songs of one of my favourite bands makes me feel worse. Is it human tendency to reach out and start liking writings which is instinctively felt by themselves?
The bird I see rushes down and comes out with the fish. But, as with the song; it does not see me.

I walk along, enjoying my friends' company, and giving them enough company to guise my heart easily with the small jokes.
I remembered things. Again.
Partly because of a small written piece sent by my old friend.
I do not blame him for depressing me. It was always there. A little snubbed.
Yet.

Doch ich lebe.
Ich lebe immer noch.
Ich lebe.
Als eine Luege.

I live.

With those old memories.
I still live.

I try in vain to disguise my feelings.

But. I cannot.
Reader. Forgive me.

All I've ever wanted/All I've ever needed.
Is here/ In my arms.
Words are very/Unnecessary.
They can only/Do harm.

The songs are:
Seele in not: Lacrimosa
and
Enjoy the Silence: Lacuna Coil/Depeche Mode

Cold.

2007-04-04T22:17:00.000+05:30

“A little kiss from your caramel lips.
A little touch from your ethereal hands.”

The lost lover quotes in the cemetery.
His eyes longing to see his dead love.

But where is she now?
How is she to be reached?

“I am here now, please wake up.
I want you now, please wake up.”

He feels her arms now,
Around him in an embrace.

But where is she now?
How is she to be reached?

“I came to you, from our old haunt.
I came to you, to be with you.”

His lachrymal pleads,
Fall on departed ears.

He knows she is here.
He knows these won’t reach her.

“Pray take these, they are yours.
As much as I, am yours.”

He lays the black roses.
On the pedestal of her sarcophagus.

He knows she is here.
He knows these won’t reach her…

An inspiration. As such... from an old poem by an anonymous author. I forget the name, at present...
More so, because I was not feeling right.
Fixation theory, as one of my friends told me... hits me back again.

Defining Poetry.

2007-04-03T09:18:00.000+05:30

A very good friend of mine, and I were talking.
The subject was something both of us never talked about: Poetry.

I read one of his pieces. And, truth to be said, I never thought he was the kind of person who writes poetry.
He denied it, saying "I wrote my heart's feelings! It was not poetry!!"
I say, "My friend, when you write your heart's feelings, it usually comes out as a poem."
"No way. I mean, it does not 'fit' into a poem."
"It does. Look at it!"
I point at it.
"Was it not about something?" I ask.
"Well..."
"You know it was. So do I. I had a hunch on what it was; and you confirmed it."
"Um..."
"Accept it."
"Alright. It was poetry."
"See! I told you when you write something from your heart, it becomes poetry... Poetry equals words from heart."
He does not answer.

Long silence.

"You think so?"
"YES!"

"What about our Lizard and Cockroach thing then?

We stop and smirk and have a good long laugh!!

And then I say, "Hey! It was from my heart!!"

So. Lesson:
{I have said this before and I say it again and I don't care if I am a hypocrite}
Prose is bad but poetry is verse!!

Randomization

2007-03-31T12:50:00.000+05:30

Right; this is a written experiment to describe a thing in an unused or rarely used way.
I think this can be a meme. {!}

Infatuated wind.

Tarmac clouds.

Sober leaves.

Cloistered roads.

~ Secondary thoughts of a random brain.

Ze Blahwgmeet

2007-03-26T16:01:00.000+05:30

This is a post on the Blogmeet that started at Crossword.
Participants:
Alarond, Lucifer,
The_One
And me!

Well, it started like this:
9:30 AM, that is, Me and The_One arrive.
We find that the dratted place does not open ‘til 10:30…
“Bloody Hell!” Me.
“Now what do we do?” The_One.
“Roam. Wait. Roam. Circle. Wait…”

9:45 AM, I cross path with Alarond {Bah!}
“Who are you?” {!}
We wait.
We wait.
We roam.
We roam.
We circle.
We circle.

“Where the hell is this guy?” Alarond.
“How the hell am I supposed to know?” Me.
“If he is very late, I am going to kill him!!” The_One.
We laugh.
Then we grin.
Then we smile.
Then we wait.

We roam again.
We come up to a person. Black shirt and blue jeans standing next to the unopened Crossword.

“Y’know, he told me he’ll wear a white shirt and blue jean…” Me.
“Erh. It’ll be quite dumb if we go up to him and …” Alarond.
“Whatev— ” The_One
And, we start walking towards him.

“Do you have name?” Alarond. Pointedly.
“Unfortunately Not!!” The Namel—{Sheesh, name change warning!!} Lucifer.
We all laugh like insane people.
And then we realise we should go inside the dratted bookstore. It’s closed.
Sheesh.

Bah.

We try coaxing the guard.
He looks at us suspiciously.

We back off.
“Damn!”

It opens at last. Finally.
We go. We see. We drool. {!}
And then inside the Coffee shop [with exorbitant prices] Lucifer presents us each with a CD with a movie.
I got the Animatrix.
But, I was pleasantly surprised by what he had written the “To” in the CD.

To Kaushik Narasimhan-Prince Kazarelth Feangol.
(The Psionic Equivalent of God)

Didn’t think many people notice the ‘Feangol’ part.
AND, felt extremely dumb because I didn’t bring anything for him…

“Thanks, friend! Really appreciate this!!”

After that, a load of roaming [and snacking!!] later, we come up to the CCD near my school’s back entrance. {YES! Elgin Road to Wood Street by foot!}
We have Chocolate Fantasy, or something.
And then, we talk and talk.

After that {It’s 2:15 PM} we are going to part our ways…
I look at Alarond.
“It was definitely a good blogmeet…”
“Yes, it was.”

And, I and The_One are in the metro.

“I had a very good day after a very long time!” he says.
“Same, man. Same…”

So, verdict:
Awesome blogmeet.
Will do it again.
Especially for the cash-confusion. {I dunno whom I paid for, and who paid for me!}
Hehe. Was good fun.

Season change

2007-03-24T18:22:00.000+05:30

Usually comes to this, during the season change.
Rain, rain.
Come wash everything away...

A new beginning, as I say. For me, and for everyone else. And then, it is the last chance for a proper "new beginning".
After that, the rat race is on.
At the end of which, I am still a rat.

I keep answering everyone's "How are you?" with a dull, "I am fine, fine."
Then, they go about their business. They can't even detect the sigh in the "fine".
And, later, it comes to "what are you planning to do?"
My initial reaction to the question is usually, "getting away from people like you..."
but, decency calls on me to say: "I will be ... "

At least, I have my blog.
Boy, I would be heartbroken if something happens to it...
It's a lot of time spent here... my Fealdamar.

I am happy to see it prosper, in its own small way.
Thank you, reader...

Season changes always disappoint me. I always expect a lot from them.

The young Hero

2007-03-19T13:45:00.000+05:30

Well, an unfinished, untitled [almost] ballad written in half an hour a few days back.
It’s large, yes.
And it's not the epic poem that I promise I shall some day write...
Tell me what you think.

He rode to the river’s end,
And looked upon the,
Tower; A dark phantasm-
Soaking up the light.

His horse, it stood, in dismay,
In full view of the ,
Tower; A dark macabre-
Haunting the beast’s mind.

He took out his sword in show
As challenge to the
Tower; A single Light,
In the Darkness.

In retaliation, the Fort
Unleashed its Bestiary.
Abominations fawned on
The Weary Challenger.

Yet he fought the Emperor’s
Minions and beasts,
The clashes ringing the stone
Abode of Darkness.

‘Til at last the dark hero
was sent to quell him.
Fanfare announced his coming:
A Battlelord, he was.

The single rebellion
Now stood in peril.
The minions, in horror
Fled from the Lord’s path.

The Knight-Prince now, looked upon
His foe; All arm’d.
He put down his weapon and
Slowly spoke thus:

“O great Battlelord, I pray thee, hear my plea for I,
have not come to battle, but save my domain from it”

His voice, it never shook once.
As he begged the Lord.
His tiny domain, it was
Next for destruction.
The Battlelord, surprised ,
By his prayer was.
He looked at the young Prince,
As he continued.

“I offer me as ransom, in return for my land”

He knelt before the Lord as
A submissive now.
Hot tears fell and escaped
His pain’d body.
_________

Rebellion!

2007-03-12T14:21:00.000+05:30

“Yes.”
After hours of deep thought. All that came out of my mind was this: “Yes.”
It was odd. I was not in my exasperated mood at all.
Initial fears went off.
“I hate you all!”
It was an example of victorious power...

“I hate you all!”
It was more of a statement, than a ridiculous shout at nothingness.
I did not know who, or what, was “you all”. Nevertheless, I knew that they were present. Always. Haunting your conscious. It was one of the few times I revolted. I was always scared of the consequences.
When I am at the top of my self, I usually am too tall to see anybody else. I ignore them. Sometimes, I feel, it is a good thing: Viewing the world in a wider and taller standpoint.
Everything seems so insignificant, doesn’t it?
Tiny. Pretty. Moreover, so irrelevant.

“I am at the top of my world now.
If you say I am not… I hate you.
I banish you from my world! You have nothing to do here.
If you have anything else to say, keep it with yourself, and leave.
Now. I am free of you. You little disease.”

I finally concluded that I should rebel against this world. Yet again. My World, against this insanity. Let’s see how long I last. Just for fun. Just for the excitement. Just for that lasting odd of me winning.

I take up my weapon, and shout:
“I hate you!”

Won't forget you.

2007-03-07T22:14:00.000+05:30

You go off thinking it will be great. Hell yes, it would be great. You arrive. You get a hug and kisses. You wait. Soon, everyone is ready. You have fun. Real fun.
Then the problem begins.

Something goes terribly wrong. You did not realise it would be this bad.
You get lost in the middle of terrible things.
You get found again.
Then more madness.
As it is a small confrontation is wrought. You try to pacify it. But, fail. Try again. Fail. Try one last time. Succeed, if that's what it was. Then you see the stand off again. You slump into a chair. And then try to see it from afar. You are on the verge of breakdown, and you stand up and tower. Things settle, for that matter.
Then a poignant question. It's a dillema. You ask for permission.
It's given.
You walk down the stairs.
You meet, and talk and explain.
Handshake.
You go back. And then wait.
Wait.

You are asked to go back. Not a sound from those around you. You try to brighten up. It starts slowly but surely. You get back.
Lunch there, have fun. A little tension left.
Then, soft hair in your arm. You ask what is wrong?
"Nothing."
Everything is fine.
Later, you leave.
You are accompanied.

The words come out:
"Kaushik, what you did today meant a lot to me."
"Thank you." Is all that comes out of your mouth.

A long talk, and you head back. Metro.
Thinking:
Friend, you mean a lot to me. Whatever I did today, was nothing. It was just comfort. Love you, and want to see you in good hands. Wherever you are, you will be remembered. Thank you for whatever happened. It was nightmarish, but ended well. It brings hope back about fairy-tales. You are the protagonist. You will always be.

Tears almost well up, and leave.
And then you see The Cable Guy, and think.
What an ending. What a weird ending to a weird day.
Coincidence. Maybe.