to all the tricks that we learnt this year..

poland

tatry

i did nt write a single word on the trip. did nt have a thought, apparently.

but then again, i think this poem by charles bukowski prolly sums it up for me..

at this time
I no longer have to work
the nightclubs, the universities,
the bookstores
I no longer have to tell the freshman English class
at the U. of Nebraska (Omaha)
at 11 a.m. while sitting
at a yellow elevated desk
why I did it
how I did it
and what they might do in order to do
it for
themselves

I don’t mind the plane flights back
with the businessmen
all of us drinking doubles
and looking out past the wing
trying to relax
grateful that we were not on skid row
knowing we had certain abilities
(so far)
which have saved us from that.

I may have to do it all again, but
right now I am where I belong:
passing over my own Grand Canyon
on schedule
no seat belt
no stewardess
no lost luggage.

and brick by brick..

it is very early in the morning. the sun has not shown up yet. the air in the room is sleeping. and my mind is still playing with its new friend, peace.

it is in hours like these that people sing few worded songs on two chords, lying on their beds staring at the black ceiling.. wondering what took so long.

is it real
this bliss
or is it another fable
just another tale
sprung outta mood
looking for a label

p.s. a few weeks back, i watched a movie and realised that my life could actually be that of a suburban woman in the states called pippa lee. who knew!

somehow

today, everything seems okay. alles.

what now?

that's 16 straight hours of optimization and the sample still does not respond.

and people tell me 'am plain lucky.

i think..

this is awesome! an alarm clock which goes (flies) off and doesn't stop until you catch the rotor and stick it back in place.

(from the makers of this)

just in case you forgot about the harmonium

.. or lisa hannigan, for that matter. =)

it is simplest to write about yourself, for reasons best left unexplained..

#3 Mia Riddle and her band - Grand Children
von lecargo

things seem less ordinary today.

all the plants in my street lie dead, for its winter. and it is cold. another year around the sun, i go around smiling at the things i sold.

i walk in and out of many lives each week trying to catch a glimpse of what days with sunlight would be in the worthy shadows of friendship. lives in their distant selves being entwined into a lil maze of subjection and gumption, where dialogues are often restricted to conscious colourfulness, or on cloudy days - unabashed playfulness. and in the middle of the sentence, i pause and i wonder what am i doing here in the midst of the deliberate society that is pleasantness. wherein this lil forest of people who stand still in their perceptions of life and its likes, i have seen many wither into meaningless memories. surreal seas of words flowing under and around bridges made on astonishingly soft lands of reason.

there is a street in my life where i walk without fear, all the hundreds of houses abandoned within sight, not a soul. there is no ghastly sense of dismissiveness to what i see. in the little words that turn around these fingers, i mean well.

but for the things, which deem less ordinary today.

at nights

are times i feel like running away
away from all this
everything around

then i remember
i am running