My body's on fire, my heart is on fire, My body's on fire, now my heart is on fire, and I'm losing my sanity, Be mine, be mine, My body's on fire, now my heart is on fire, My body's on fire, now my heart is on fire, My body's on fire, nown my heart is on fire, and I'm losing my sanity, Be mine, be mine.
From David Gray's Be Mine.
Uh huh.
*****************************
Mar mitna hai, hamme,
Ishq mein.
Versus
Grow the fuck up.
******************************
Honestly there is something so damn childish about my angst, it barely befits the word.
Tuesday, 23 December 2008
Possible PhD Proposal
Calculate, on a scale of 1 to 10, Tara's mood on any given day,
where:
1 is Dark, abyssal despair and
10 is cinnamon scented bliss,
using an as-yet-unknown function between
x = The amount of time, in minutes, spent doing her hair
y = The amount of time spent in impulse visits to the High Street
and
z = The amount of time spent staring vacantly at Blogger, Facebook, the Independent, or out the window, in the hope that something will happen, writing will magically appear or the PhD will fucking finish without my having to analyse my own data that I spent months collecting but can't fucking face.
where:
1 is Dark, abyssal despair and
10 is cinnamon scented bliss,
using an as-yet-unknown function between
x = The amount of time, in minutes, spent doing her hair
y = The amount of time spent in impulse visits to the High Street
and
z = The amount of time spent staring vacantly at Blogger, Facebook, the Independent, or out the window, in the hope that something will happen, writing will magically appear or the PhD will fucking finish without my having to analyse my own data that I spent months collecting but can't fucking face.
Monday, 22 December 2008
Musing
If my grandaunt were still alive, she'd scorn at me for being an overly sentimental fool.
If my grandmother knew what I love, she'd laugh with me and cry with me and angst with me and touch my cheek the way she always did.
**************************************************
From The Far Pavillions:
The whisper of dry grass and casurina fronds stirring in the breeze. The hoot of an owl and the scutter of some small nocturnal animal foraging around a clump of pampas. The chirr of a cricket and the flitter of a bat's wing and from somewhere very far away, the sound that is the night song of all India - the howl of a jackal's pack.
p. 309
Read it!!
*******************************
If my grandmother knew what I love, she'd laugh with me and cry with me and angst with me and touch my cheek the way she always did.
**************************************************
From The Far Pavillions:
The whisper of dry grass and casurina fronds stirring in the breeze. The hoot of an owl and the scutter of some small nocturnal animal foraging around a clump of pampas. The chirr of a cricket and the flitter of a bat's wing and from somewhere very far away, the sound that is the night song of all India - the howl of a jackal's pack.
p. 309
Read it!!
*******************************
Middle Name
Angst:
[engk-stuh]
A feeling of dread, anxiety or anguish.
1944, from Ger. Angst "neurotic fear, anxiety, guilt, remorse" from O.H.G. angust, from the root of
anger.
[engk-stuh]
A feeling of dread, anxiety or anguish.
1944, from Ger. Angst "neurotic fear, anxiety, guilt, remorse" from O.H.G. angust, from the root of
anger.
Sunday, 21 December 2008
Round Number I've-lost-count.
I know I've said this before, but let me say it again, since hardly anyone is listening anyway.
Desire is the root of all evil
Versus
Me.
Desire is the root of all evil
Versus
Me.
Theme Song.
Que sera, sera;
If it happens, I will come to India.
And if it doesn't,
We'll part ways;
I'll stay here,
You'll go far.
Que sera, sera.
If it happens, I will come to India.
And if it doesn't,
We'll part ways;
I'll stay here,
You'll go far.
Que sera, sera.
Up at six, having slept 15 hours straight (only waking once to turn over, kiss him deeply and long and then drift back into the stars). She feels rested and can smell the air outside even through the closed window. It's fresh. But too cold to stand in, even with warm pyjamas. The birds are wide awake and there's a riot of them outside.
She walks through the house, switching on lamps, opening the front door to get a whiff of that freshness. She makes toast with cheese - a childhood ritual breakfast, unshakable. And a mug of tea. Tea, not coffee. There is no lemongrass, alas. But there is still freshness in the air and birdsong. Even, for a brief second in the darkened parking lot outside, a prowling cat for company.
What is different:
Not much, even halfway across the world. The essential elements have been brought within me: the morning air, the mug of tea, a cat's quiet company, birdsong.
This, I now realize, is how I make myself at home; it has very little to do with the exact point on any map. Collecting the impressions of a morning, I'm oriented. Hello Earth, I'm home.
She walks through the house, switching on lamps, opening the front door to get a whiff of that freshness. She makes toast with cheese - a childhood ritual breakfast, unshakable. And a mug of tea. Tea, not coffee. There is no lemongrass, alas. But there is still freshness in the air and birdsong. Even, for a brief second in the darkened parking lot outside, a prowling cat for company.
What is different:
Not much, even halfway across the world. The essential elements have been brought within me: the morning air, the mug of tea, a cat's quiet company, birdsong.
This, I now realize, is how I make myself at home; it has very little to do with the exact point on any map. Collecting the impressions of a morning, I'm oriented. Hello Earth, I'm home.
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