it has been a good so many months since i've visited my own blog. partly because i've been living in a whirlwind that is 'oh so totally' wrapped around me, me and me. this accentuated selfworth seems to originate from the time i have become too busy/tired to sleep, cook and some times eat. i do not condone such a lifestyle, but it has its rewards, even if it does not show up on the teller.
coping is quite difficult, as usual with a shrinking bank balance, hectic lifestyle and new abode. marking territories, boundaries and achievements hardly afford the time to write about the dialogues that run in my wired up mind. which is what brings me to the mental blog.
at the end of each day, i seem to need to 'wrap up' the events and conclude all the happenings on my way home. this monologue runs in my mind, right about the time i start to head back. sort of like a mental blog, with many many interesting and sarcastic jokes worthy of sharing. however the hitch is when i finally reach home, after the routine facebook and email checking, i shut down the computer and lie in bed. the interesting anecdotes of the day die an oblivious death as my eyelids drop and i fall asleep.
how many of you have got stuck in this infinite loop of almost non-existence? it is not something to be unhappy about, but i'm sure it is something of great concern to anthropologists and sociologists alike..
I am Peter Walsh. I am also Clarissa and Sally. I could be Septimus, but I would rather not be.
Mrs. Dalloway was not an easy book to read. At a maximum rate of 10 pages a day, it is finally back on the bookshelf. It took me a while to digest, fluttering through the characters' minds, confused as a reader, this book deserves (or needs) seconds. Apart from admiring the language, the wordiness and the characters (whom i think combine to form an alter ego of me) these are some excerpts that stuck.
"Rigid, the skeleton of habit alone upholds the human frame."
"What does a brain matter,.... when compared with the heart?"
"What is this terror? what is this ecstacy? he thought to himself. What is it that fills me with extraordinary excitement?
if you want the scoop on gwyneth, you go to goop. i love chris martin, and for that reason i love gwyneth palthrow. she's seems nice, in a sweet sort of way. but, i think 'goop' is not a cool name for a website. i think i get the logic - (gwyneth + scoop = goop) but somehow it does not digest well in my mind.
anyway, apart from ranting about the name, the site is good. and it has a lot of personal articles that won't necessarily interest all celeb stalkers. it's a lifestyle page of someone who's pretty, rich and famous AND has a rockstar husband. not forgetting that she gave birth to (an) apple and moses.
heres a list of pages i found particularly interesting, heartwarming, or useful
GO- Paris her father said to her "I wanted you to see Paris for the first time with a man who would always love you, no matter what."
i hope these will keep you busy. i found them interesting and subscribed to the newsletter. i hope they (the website people) decide to change the name of the site, or atleast offer a better explanation of its existence.
i am off to compose another junbox entry, so i bid you goodnight!
all my best ideas are born when i'm doing the most mundane of tasks. and somehow, it escapes me to write it down. so here i am, trying to recollect what important idea i wanted to share... ooh!
that was fast. anyways, after the conversation yesterday, on logos and business cards, i did some research. and like all research i start off with, i found something irrelevant but interesting. a good ad website with a good ad.. ha :)
other things on my mind were, packing, writing, composing the song that hasn't been composed yet, updating the junkbox, and ofcourse blurting out my views on mrs. dalloway and how much i love her.
yellow, like my fingernails painted. happy, sick, but not gay. shifted points of view. deliberated, calculated. twisted in the light of day. anxiety. apprehension. melted. gone away.
breath. beats. bounce. air consumes me. fly, i must. today.
self reflection. recollection. there are certain pivotal moments in life when you walk directionless, in a seemingly pointless existence. these moments, propagated by long aimless, bus rides, fueled by chance, captured by cameras, and inscripted in little pink books have a detox effect on the mind. like withdrawal symptoms, the flushing out occurs after the worst has passed. and in my diary, this was the moment, the time and the day. thanks to friends, family and this little pink book, the random bus, on that fateful hawker day, i looked up and believed, that yes, i am my own hero.
Je suis ton pile Tu es mon face Toi mon nombril Et moi ta glace Tu es l'envie et moi le geste Toi le citron et moi le zeste Je suis le thé, tu es la tasse Toi la guitare et moi la basse
Je suis la pluie et tu es mes gouttes Tu es le oui et moi le doute T'es le bouquet je suis les fleurs Tu es l'aorte et moi le coeur Toi t'es l'instant moi le bonheur Tu es le verre je suis le vin Toi tu es l'herbe et moi le joint Tu es le vent j'suis la rafale Toi la raquette et moi la balle T'es le jouet et moi l'enfant T'es le vieillard et moi le temps Je suis l'iris tu es la pupille Je suis l'épice toi la papille Toi l'eau qui vient et moi la bouche Toi l'aube et moi le ciel qui s'couche T'es le vicaire et moi l'ivresse T'es le mensonge moi la paresse T'es le guépard moi la vitesse Tu es la main moi la caresse Je suis l'enfer de ta pécheresse Tu es le Ciel moi la Terre, hum Je suis l'oreille de ta musique Je suis le soleil de tes tropiques Je suis le tabac de ta pipe T'es le plaisir je suis la foudre Tu es la gamme et moi la note Tu es la flamme moi l'allumette T'es la chaleur j'suis la paresse T'es la torpeur et moi la sieste T'es la fraîcheur et moi l'averse Tu es les fesses je suis la chaise Tu es bémol et moi j'suis dièse
T'es le Laurel de mon Hardy T'es le plaisir de mon soupir T'es la moustache de mon Trotski T'es tous les éclats de mon rire Tu es le chant de ma sirène Tu es le sang et moi la veine T'es le jamais de mon toujours T'es mon amour t'es mon amour
Je suis ton pile Toi mon face Toi mon nombril Et moi ta glace Tu es l'envie et moi le geste T'es le citron et moi le zeste Je suis le thé, tu es la tasse Toi la putain et moi la passe Tu es la tombée moi l'épitaphe Et toi le texte, moi le paragraphe Tu es le lapsus et moi la gaffe Toi l'élégance et moi la grâce Tu es l'effet et moi la cause Toi le divan moi la névrose Toi l'épine moi la rose Tu es la tristesse moi le poète Tu es la Belle et moi la Bête Tu es le corps et moi la tête Tu es le corps. Hummm ! T'es le sérieux moi l'insouciance Toi le flic moi la balance Toi le gibier moi la potence Toi l'ennui et moi la transe Toi le très peu moi le beaucoup Moi le sage et toi le fou Tu es l'éclair et moi la poudre Toi la paille et moi la poutre Tu es le surmoi de mon ça C'est toi qu'arrives des mois si ? Tu es la mère et moi le doute Tu es le néant et moi le tout Tu es le chant de ma sirène Toi tu es le sang et moi la veine T'es le jamais de mon toujours T'es mon amour t'es mon amour
reflecting on the past 7 days, i've realised that life does change. mine has been fluctuating like my bank balance. riding on a full tank of happiness and high on sun, sea and smiles.
i've discovered that there is such a thing as 'lightning wax' by diana king. developed my first lomo roll. i've tasted presshafruit juice from a triangular bottle. i've found the perfect foundation, crème and powder. finally got the perfect blush tint. i'm progressing en française. i've been on 2 budget airlines and i've been driven 1.5 hours on a motorbike/scooter to the airport. seen some beautiful seascapes. drunk chilled coconut on a burning hot day. not to mention i've had yummy food. sour sour mangoes with chilli. and i've been somewhere where the sleaze meter is so high that it made me feel safe.
It is amazing how things in life are linked. For instance, this photograph has connected some impossibly random people/ideas together (atleast from my perspective).
2004: this photo inspired me to try out a lomo camera. 2007: imogen heap is one of my favourite artists. march 2009: i now have a lomo camera. today: i read again and realise this is a photograph of imogen heap on a bicycle in london.
from 'little red riding hood' photo of the nameless girl, this becomes imogen heap. and this 'wow' feeling i got when i linked the dots will last perhaps an hour longer.
i'm sure you can think of a million join the dots instances at the drop of a hat. not all of them good, but 'wow', nonetheless.
Because I'm soft like that :)
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“I’m not the silly romantic you think. I don’t want the heavens or the
shooting stars. I don’t want gemstones or gold. I have those things
already. I want…...
"For you, a thousand times over."
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I googled this phrase and found scores of blogs with the same title. It
rings like a bell; high pitched, resonant. It doesn't let you go.
The Kite Runner b...
