Tuesday, December 30, 2008

Top Ten Lists


A quick list of my top tens, not in any particular order, just my ten favourites for this year, they are not necessarily things that happened this year. This list is based on how I felt about them this year.
Songs
1. Death of Love (Cradle of Filth – Godspeed on the Devils Thunder)
2. Asator (Amon Amarth – With Oden on our Side)
3. Machtkampf (Arch enemy – Doomsday Machine)
4. Set it Off (Audioslave – Audioslave)
5. Love to You (The Beatles - Revolver)
6. I’ve Just Seen A Face (The Beatles - Help)
7. Lai Lai Hei (Ensiferum – Iron)
8. Selling The Drama (Live – Awake)
9. Symphony of Destruction (Megadeth – Symphony of Destruction)
10. For My Lover (Tracy Chapman – Tracy Chapman)
Albums
1. Doomsday Machine (Arch Enemy)
2. Whatever People Say, That’s What I’m Not (Arctic Monkeys)
3. Help! (The Beatles)
4. Sgt. Peppers Lonely Hearts Club Band (The Beatles)
5. Victory Songs (Ensiferum)
6. United Abominations (Megadeth)
7. Dark Passion Play (Nightwish)
8. Master Of Puppets (Metallica)
9. Stadium Arcadium (Red Hot Chili Peppers)
10. Ten (Perl Jam)
Books
1. A Hundred Years of Solitude (Gabriel Garcia Marquez)
2. For Whom The Bell Tolls (Ernest Hemmingway)
3. East of Eden (John Steinbeck)
4. Tortilla Flat (John Steinbeck)
5. Scoop (Evelyn Waugh)
6. The Song of Troy (Coleen McCullough)
7. Papillon (Henri Charriere)
8. Our Ancestors (Italo Calvino)
9. The Girl On the Boat (P.G. Wodehouse)
10. Adrian Mole The Cappuccino Years (Sue Townsend)
Brands
1. Puma (My favourite sneakers ever)
2. Budweiser (Guess)
3. Old Monk (Indian dark rum)
4. Hewlett Packard (My Laptop)
5. Bajaj (My Bike)
6. Ratnadeep (The Supermarket that’s opened right in front of my place)
7. Novartis (Guess again)
8. ITC (The Indian Tobacco Company)
9. Google (Who can live without it in one way or another?)
10. Spencers (Some really good, some godawful bread)
Stuff In General
1. Water (I’ve had all sorts of problems with this stuff this year, been through a lot to get some)
2. Broadband internet
3. Newly Laid Road
4. Love
5. Work
6. BitTorrent
7. Wikipedia
8. Food
9. My iPod
10. Electricity

Thursday, December 25, 2008

The Dancer and Creation


In the beginning there was sky, no clouds, no wind, no stars and no planets, just an endless stretch of the great blue beyond. Then appeared the dancer, from where, no one knows for sure, maybe she came from the halls of the immortals that lay to the east or maybe she came from the plains of the undead to the west of the sky, no one knows for sure but the important thing is that she appeared. Clad in nothing but a wisp of condensation, her own cloud cover, she proceeded to dance across the sky. A boom from the heavens and thunder and lightning and celestial music sounded across the blue.
A bow to the north, to the south and then the east and the west, then arms raised upwards, her head bowed, hair damp and covering her face, she stood. Stood, slowly raising herself on to her toes, pivoting, she turned, a slow circle. Now with the rising sun behind her, she proceeded, slow, sinuous to the music, a crouch, leap and pirouette. Ripples formed where her toes touched the sky, they spread and merged, peaks and troughs, light glittering over the irregularities in the normally smooth surface of the empty blue.
Dancing faster, now, beads of sweat appeared on her brow, a flick of her head and a quick twist, the beads, travelled down the length of her hair and flew. Where they hit the sky, they created ripples of their own, these suspended drops hung in nothing then began to grow, they grew into vast bodies of salty water and so were born the oceans. Now the sky was divided, the blue on top and a great expanse of ocean reflecting the calm of the skies above.
Still she continued to dance, skipping lightly off the water and the sky, suspended in between, the sun now overhead, illuminated her in a halo of yellow and red and green. A leap backwards, she flew, circumscribing an arc around the ocean, the colours followed forming a trail in her wake and so she was the first rainbow.
Faster than ever now, spinning and writhing, the could that covered her now turned an ominous black and as they clashed and crashed, they began to rain, they started off with a drizzle then proceeded to pour over the surface of the ocean. A storm whipped across the surface of the water, the wind raged and howled, as she danced. Angry now, her brow furrowed as she looked across time into the future into the time of man, when her creation would wage war against itself.
She saw the blood and the tears, she felt the pain and she heard the cries for help, she continued dancing. But she wept, tears streaming across her face, falling through the sky to the surface of her ocean.
She could feel the smoke and soot of the fires clinging to her skin, she couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t move, she had to break out of it. Running a hand across her face, across her body, she collected the soot that had accumulated on her into the palm of her hand. Still dancing, she opened her palm and blew. The soot carried through the sky and landed on the surface of the ocean where it sprouted land.
She still felt unclean and impure, the actions of her creations had sunk under her skin, so again, she ran her hand over her skin, this time collecting the soft hair that grew on her skin, she sprinkled this on the land where it gave rise to the trees and herbs and shrub and the creepers that would wind their way through the forests. It was still there, she couldn’t rid herself of it.
Again, she ran her hand over her body, this time, she peeled off her skin and flung that on the land and into the sea where it gave birth to animals and fish that would inhabit them. She continued to dance across the skies, the sun travelled over her head and the earth and the oceans passed under her, she danced, all muscle and bone and life.
It wouldn’t leave her, the agony and the hate still haunted her, so of what was left, she scattered herself over the surface of the earth again. From her bones rose man, from her muscle, he fashioned his environment and of her blood, he nourished himself, of her organs he built his tools and of her brain he taught himself to survive.
And thus was the world created and thus we were born of the remains of the cosmic dancer, our mother and our first meal. She died of our sins and she died so we could be born. She died from acts we did not commit but now are bound to.
And this is my story of creation.

Friday, December 19, 2008

I'm Drunk

I'm drunk, no, I'm smashed, I don't know why I'm typing this into my browser, but I want to post,I have a crazy need to post. I'm hitting keys but not necessarily the ones I want to hit.
I'm depressed so I'm listening to Gwen Stefani but I'm thinking to myself this is all crap.
I'm going to switch to the Beatles now. For someone I love McCartney, anything he's sung, anything he's credited with. My best friend, my bosom buddy G likes Lennon stuff but because he died, I don't think that's a valid excuse. I think Lennon was hyped beyond his coke bottle frames were worth.
I started listening to the Beatles when I was a kid, my mom had a bunh of LP's, the Beatles, The Stones, Janis Joplin, The Seekers, Billy Joel, Joan Baez, Dave Dee Dozy Beaky Mick & Tich. I loved it, grew up to Help, Revolver and A Hard Days Night. Now I'm hooked.

Just remembered Dave Dee et al., got on to youtube and listened to 'Hold tight' a song I so loved when I was a kid, haven't heard it in maybe fifteen years, god that's a long time.

Talking about years,just turned twenty four, god it feels so fuck-all, I'm OLD, OLD so damn old and everyone I know (that's elder than me) telling me these are these best years of my life. The best years? I feel so cheated, no, hell no, not possible.
It can't get worse, me, an impotent Lochnivar, I'm dead so dead so drunk and now it's only eight, so long to go to tomorrow.

I'm going to hit publish post now, before I pass out, buh-by good-night

Tuesday, December 16, 2008

The Fish


Once, in a land far, far away, in a time aeons ago (give or take a few centuries), there was a fish, in a lake. Content, swimming along the bed, around the stones and flora that flourished in the waters that played host to him and others of his phylum and class, he whiled away his time. The one day, a flash from the heavens struck him and spirited his body away, leaving not a trace. That is the end of his story and we can all learn a very important lesson from it, though the exact details of which I’m yet to figure out.
In the same land (far away and long ago) there was a fisherman, yes the land was inhabited by anthropomorphic beings much like you or me, that’s about how far my imagination will stretch at the moment. So this fisherman, would sit at the banks of a shallow lake, crouching on a boulder that stuck out of the pale blue water, holding his spear above his head. Perfectly still he sat, sat and watched the little fish go about their business , swimming around in the water. He gave them names, he sat and described their lives to himself, every little twitch of a tail would mean something to him.
“... and this little fishy here, he shall be known as Balthazar, why? Maybe because it’s the shape of his scales, the way they catch the sun, he’s a pretty one for sure. I’m sure the lady fishes dig him.”
Balthazar swam around in his little pool of discontent, he was fucked, he’d just about managed to drag himself out of bed half an hour lat and now he was so going to be late for office. He sleepily swam his way to the nearest weed that looked remotely edible and gave it a quick nibble.
“Ugh what crap, well no time now for anything fancy, will pick up a fly or two at about noon I guess”.
He managed to reach the school just as they were doing their fourth lap of the course designated for the day. They flicked in perfect unison, “left, right, now double time, fifteen degrees up, now against the current, work folks, work. You, you, the late one, fit yourself somewhere at the back, I’ll have a word with you later”.
“Damn that Ali, he’s managed to get in next to Radha, the bastard, just because his father could afford to pay to have his scales chromed, he thinks all the ladies will fall for him, I’ll show him.”
Just then a loud shout can be heard from across the water, “Balthazar, get back here, what are you doing with that spear?”
“Coming Maa...” shouted the fisherman, “Look alert, shouted the fish leading the school”.
With a twist an a leap, the fisherman, dove into the water, the fish scattering under his shadow as he passed over them. With long strokes, he drew his brown skinny body through the water heading to the shore where a heavy set woman could be seen gesticulating in anger, one hand over her head, the other swinging at her side, a thick leather leash clenched in the fist.
Later in the evening, leashed to the veranda by his neck, Balthazar knelt over the ground, over an ant hill, he watched the busy little buggers go about their work, frantically dragging biting, dragging, feelers waggling and their tiny little feet whirring, left, right, left, march, stomp, dig. Head held low, scouring the earth some in disciplined lines, others, randomly seeking out new scents.
He enjoyed drawing lines in the earth through their columns, interrupting their progress, then watching them flow from that point outwards and inwards again till they picked up the trail. Try as he might, he could never interrupt it too long, anything short of kicking up the dust for a couple of feet around them was ineffective.
He wished sometimes he could have been an ant, busy, work to be done, surging forward, ever forward with thousands others, he wished he could be a fish, free to swim in the lake beyond the grove. He wished he was a coconut growing on a tree, high up in the grove, disconnected from everything around him, he’d be so far up, so fucking far up that no –one would ever be able to reach him. From up there he’d be able to see so much, he’d have so many stories to tell. He’d be able to see his mother from up there and she wouldn’t be able to bring him down, he’d see his uncle from up there and he wouldn’t be able to hurt him anymore. He’d see the ants too, only they wouldn’t bite him in his sleep.
Thinking, quietly, he rested on his hands and knees, his eyes closed and face twitching as his neurons flickered on and off. Then as often did happen, a fit of rage. Screaming at the top of his voice, he began to stomp at the ground, kicking up dust obliterating all the ants he saw.
A loud shout from inside the house and uncle came out, belt in his hand, swivelling off the ball of his right foot, he let loose on him with his right, crack as the leather flicked through the air, followed by a loud smack as the dead hide came into contact with living flesh. Then shoving him into the shadows and glancing over his shoulders to check if anyone was looking, he pulled open his trousers.
The sun came up, the fish awoke and the ants poured out of their holes again, the morning breeze ran through the grove, carrying with her dried leaves on her invisible cape. He could hear her giggle as she passed him, like a little girl amused by his prostrate form on the ground. He reached out to her as she passed and in response, she did a little pirouette in front of him, raising a whirlwind of dust near his face. Then with another giggle she ran again, looking over and beckoning him to follow. He would, one of these, days, but not now, he had to get back to his fish, get back to the lake somehow, he had to see if anything had transpired since the afternoon of the day before.
----------------------------------
Will anything transpire? Will I actually manage to beat myself back into the chair to continue this, will I stop taking out my anger on fictitious characters?
Who knows?
El Oh El

Sunday, December 14, 2008

Just Because It had to be Said


Just a random collection of questions that have been haunting me for quite some time, stuff I had to say, just I couldn't, not to anyone I know, so I put it up on the net (!), anywho, no poetry will result from all of this.
For Zee: It all remains as it always was, it’s just the conditions you laid down are too difficult for me to handle, I’ve tried, honestly I have but it just eats me up inside.
How long can you live disconnected from reality before everything around you comes crashing down on you? How disastrous would it be if everything you live is carefully constructed in your own head, how fucked up would it be if one of those flimsy playing cards that you stacked so carefully, so painstakingly into formation with about fifty million others, just one, slipped bringing the whole damned thing crashing down around you, leaving you stranded in the ruins of your pointless cardboard existence. How long and to what extent can you deny the obvious before reality screeching past, deafens you?
Just how much would you give up and ignore, just for the chance, for the remote possibility that what you want so badly may come to pass? To what extent would you suppress your ego, how much of your pride could you swallow for a fleeting moment of happiness.
Is standing in the face of obvious defeat the ultimate act of heroism or is it complete and utter stupidity.
I don’t think I’m ready to figure any of this out yet, but I guess that’s a good thing because if I had all the answers all ready and polished, I wouldn’t have seen and felt a lot of things, stuff I hope I will eventually be able to look back on without regret.