Of Darwin And Buckethead.

The past few days, I've been rather caught up with those 4 words of Darwin- "Survival of the fittest." I believe that this law cannot stand for humans. Humans are feeding off their own self..they are cannibalising on the road to progress. Their quest for progress is not sustainable and the generations to come are left with a bleak future. Our progress entails our extinction. Ironic as it may seem, it's the truth. We have enough crisis situations at hand that may turn into a species threatening issue. Global warming and climate change are somethings we have been hearing for a long time, but war is our biggest enemy. War. Everyday every human in entangled in some form of war. War could be a tussle with your job, your degree or any situation that is quickly spiraling out of your control. You'll fight. Fight to make things seem right. It's taking away one of the key attributes that makes us human- love. Each one wants to be on top of the pecking order. Whether he actually does something to get there or not is a different story altogether. We are eating ourselves up..our quest to be on top, is causing virtual and real wars...which might bring an abrupt end to us. Talk about parents telling their kids that in "practical life" they have no one but themselves to trust, thus destroying the basis of the word "Humanity" itself at a very nascent stage. Cannibalistic nature is not accounted for by Darwin. For eg: The American crayfish. When brought to the river Thames, devoured the local crayfish and when their cannibalistic tendencies prevailed, they eventually devoured themselves. Probably a handful remain in London's museums.
Again cannibalising is a controversial word to use here. But I'll still use it. I just intuitively feel that it fits the bill here.

again the backspace key of my keyboard goes on over and over again on whatever I write as buckethead churns out that inch perfect solo...one of those pieces of tunes strung together in a manner that can be anticipated, as if you can almost guess the next note, but when it actually reaches the eardrum it feels truly incredible... I've always had this picture of me playing Nottingham Lace on a Strat and I can almost feel the notes gently peeling off the guitar and falling to the ground. It's as if the guitar has vocals and is crying for you, dancing for you, pulsating with rage, an outlandish mixture of either or all of these at any given instance. Outlandish in a very brash sense given the face that I'm trying to describe an entity so vague, rather enigmatic. Of course, it'll be a while before i can get to play any of these songs, given the fact that i have no skills and a mutilated guitar. But those emotions come out in waves, I can imagine if I were able to play out that solo, it'd give me a high so uncontrollable that i might just abruptly stop to believe that it's actually ME who's playing. And in that high, you feel those emotions..as the notes peel off, like autumn leaves off a mighty wise oak falling on a snow covered turf, waves of emotions hit you and you are at the mercy of the composition. HOLY SHIT!


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So today the Haze ends, not officially though, the cream is over, the ice remains. I decided to utilize my trip in a decent way...so I thought I'd just empty my mind. Here's what I wrote. Unedited. No second reads. Straight from the "heights of a lofty eyrie".

It's My Red Star

In those moments of haze, I see her,
Wrapped in the tongues of a monstrous flame,
My Red Star.


I can see the naked red flame
But in that nakedness lies hidden,
A fountain of womanhood,
A phial of desire,
A bottomless well of love,
But it is hidden;
My Red Star.


One day she'll come forth the flames,
Unveiling an embodiment of beauty and grace
And her arms will open,
And the gates will open,
To a sweetly trilling brook of innocence,
To the warmth of a woman's bosom,
To a starless nightfall embellished by untold passion.
She will own my very breath,
After all,
She's my Red Star.


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Dedicated to "Red Star" a song by The Birthday Massacre. No, I'm not really a follower of this particular band, but this song, Red Star had me hooked to it. I pondered for quite a while on why this song just wouldn't stop playing in my sub-conscious background. I even wrote a poem on it. And when i read the poem, i realised that it was the singer's voice. Something really attractive...almost mystical about her voice...

An Obituary.

I just stood there. A wraith like figure, oblivious to those present in the room. Oblivion. That’s where I was headed. Or so it seemed; at least back then. You were not a pretty sight, in a room full of corpses. But the people said you looked beautiful... even in death, vanity can’t let go of humans. The crooked timber of humanity and the life that flows in those veins. Your IPod lay besides me. Idle. Sting still persuaded Roxanne not to sell herself. But the headphones were missing. You were missing. And I missed you.

There are going to be plenty of meetings now. I promise I'll meet Kurt Cobain and tell him that “teen spirit” had been your teen anthem and fragrance. He has a hundred and fifty thousand fans on facebook, wonder what he’ll have to say to that. Then of course, grandma and grandpa would be there. I’ll tell them your story. I’ll tell them you were a great guy and that they should be proud of you. I’ll tell them that ma and pa will do just fine.

I sometimes get flashes of that solitary lamp-post casting its golden halo o’er the mango tree and the little dirt track of a path you traveled almost all your life. I sometimes feel like hugging that lamp-post. Holding on to it. Your life “swept me of my feet” a bit more often than i would have liked. A stream with devastating force. Literally and figuratively. The mango tree and the lamp-post that casts its golden halogen halo over it were probably the only static objects in your life. Rest everything was shifting faster than the mind could register.

Friends were friends no longer. Caste, creed, religion suddenly mattered so much to people. Teachers who would go out of their way to help you...and make sure you fared well, physically and mentally, now turned into professors who didn’t give a fuck as to whether you were alive or dead. And when you would ask dad,”why?”, he would say, practical life is a totally different ball game, son.

And that was all.

The fact that a pragmatic approach to life entails twisting and modifying age old morals and values in a vicious manner, was engraved on stone. Morals which were embedded deep in me. Destroying them meant destroying me which in turn meant destroying you. There was no one to prepare us for this...this life. And we were left scratching the walls of this immaculate labyrinth.

Checkmate.

A white cloth covers you. Your funeral attire was impeccable- kurta and pyjamas, something you had hardly ever worn. People were calling in. Whispering their condolences. They said you were a good man and that they knew you well all along. They were recalling obscure incidents that they had shared with you in some other life. They said they knew you were a good man. And somewhere in the melee i forgot to ask you...

Who you really were.

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Inspired by a piece written by a friend of mine. I know that little piece of his was quite personal...but i just couldn't help correlating between two very similar experiences...

Epitaph Of a Failure

Sometimes i wonder...or rather I feel that on my way up the ladder of life, i slipped somewhere...sometime back...about half a decade back, and ever since I've been falling down...down that spiral ladder and i know not whether that ladder has an end. Falling into infinity, spirally! A rather comical rendition of a deep-rooted hopeless, helpless feeling inside me. Will this ever end?

They say the human mind is a sophisticated mechanism. Inflict too much pain on a human and he will simply pass out, and hence become oblivious to any further pain that maybe inflicted on him. I draw an analogy to the human life. Humans, at least me. I've face so many failures all in rapid succession, after a period of basking in the limelight, so many failures that ...now i'm immune. I already know that my next venture is a failed investment. Any hope of fruition, however minuscule, is jeered at by me and is considered as another attempt to make a fool out of me. 'Cos i've come to know and believe with whatever faith i have in all things tangible... that hope is a fair but faithless illusion of my own self. And hence, is another failure.

So why even try to invest? Why not just lay to rest all the furtive attempts? Again i draw analogy with the human mind. A family of 4 in a car meet an unfortunate end by means of a freak accident. Roll back 5 seconds and freeze. The father/mother in the car are in postures which seemingly depict the fact that they both are frantically trying to devise means to fend the impending doom off their RESPECTIVE selves...not their kids or eachother. Survival is not a matter of mere personal choice, its reflex.

So despite the fact that my logical faculty is crystal clear over the fact that success is a card i should never bet along, my subconscious calling, blinded and impaired in various ways as it may be, obdurately scratches the charred walls of an immaculate labyrinth, hoping to find a way out, a way which probably doesn't even exist...Hope, a failure.

So my question to you my friends is...


What, then, is the use?

Ivana 4

It has been an eternity since i last thought of you..

braced for a life removed from your presence,

braced for a future, devoid of life's essence...

the pragmatic mind was convinced in letting you die,

an obdurate heart furtively urged,to stop living a lie...

the feral war of heart and mind followed all these years,

and only now did i find,

you mirrored in my closeted tears...

Today on your birthday,

i lift open the fragile gates of my mind,

and the magical stream of thoughts of yore,

end the drought in every little channel they find...

the tinkling of your laughter and your little whispers,

echo in me again,

and my singed heart is cooled,

as if by sweet november rain...

how i long again to catch,

one last glimpse of you...

before my time here is done,

and i sleep forever saying-love you,i do.

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A much awaited post!

The Accursed Journey

I stand on the shore of an isle,
Weary,drained with a mouthful of bile,
Watching the waves lap my feet,
Oh so seductively sweet...
Persuading me to embark,
On a quest to obtain the "all spark".
Power and glory not known before,
Are promised to me if i leave that shore.
But once bitten, twice shy,
Do i not know,what deceptions,in the horizon,lie?
For i have laboured far and wide,
The sense of glory emanating from destiny,was my guide...
For the sake of people who live to see my glory,
To frame my life into a legend such that generations pass down my story.


But soon the world so kind,
Disappeared and in murky waters i was left behind...
Daylight was shunned and the wind was killed,
Always i sensed a pursuing omen,ill willed.
The lights began to trick my mind,
My past flashed forth...green smoke rose, of the ethereal kind...
But no cherished memories was i shown,
My wrongs and failures at me were thrown.
Guilt began to consume me, i burnt in my own pyre,
The Deceit was clear now,i could feel the Unseen Hand's ire.
Then came a storm that wrecked havoc,
I was thrown down the ship and hit the bedrock...
Into blackness and void i was thrown,
Icy tentacles of fear and hysteria, around me had grown.
Fire and ice brew together in the elements of my being,
Darkness and horror was all that i was seeing.
Yet the candle of life refused to get extinguished,
Though death and eventual peace was all that i wished.


Then i was touched by a light so fair...
Caught in a mermaid's tousled hair,
So fair and enthralling was the sight,
Her beauty washed away the darkness and then...there was light!
The tumultuous murky waters ebbed away,
The light hurt my eyes, fairer than ever was the day.
Like an infant i held on to her hand,
Her lithe body moved and delivered me to land...


And thus i came back to the doomed isle,
Weary and drained with a mouthful of bile,
Once bitten, twice shy,
Why did i leave this land? Oh why?
Now a blackness and void will forever stain my thought,
Whether i'll ever be able to trust myself again, i know not.
How foul and unfair is life,
For all my efforts, i am rewarded with pain and strife.


Oh beautiful mermaid, hearken my voice again...
Steal me from death and all this pain,
From all temptations i will abstain...
Far above the gulls are crying...
Come to me...Come to me...I'm dying...

The Execution

The town of Crete was abuzz with excitement. Rumors about the identity of the captured assassin were rife. The inhabitants of the little town soaked up the excitement in the air…excitement which was so much longed for but only got in terms of a tea party in the private lawn and hours of mindless gossip.

Everyone had vivid imagination of the split second when the scimitar would swoop down. They all prepared for celebration…after all the blood of their beloved mayor was being avenged…they would love it, of course they would…

Evening dawned and the sun cast a pale yellow sheen across the sky, making the mind hallucinate and mistake the sky for a vast ocean that mirrored the sandy landscape. Men in spotless white gowns, women in beautifully crafted robes flocked toward the place where it was all supposed to happen.

Young Helen too wanted to escape…escape to the place where all the excitement was. But her brother was dead against it. He disapproved of the gore that would be on display. But teenage is the age of rebellion. As soon as he left, Helen clambered down the compound wall and ran towards the city center. She got a bit nervous when she couldn’t find her best friend Xanthe. The shadow of uncertainty reflected in her large brown eyes. But she didn’t let that bother her much.

By the time she reached the Center, a fair amount of hullabaloo had begun. People had begun arguing, jostling for space. Soon she realized that her view was blocked and there was no way she could squeeze her way past the massive adult males that stood before her. Unless…

She had been pacing about for a while, cursing her luck and her brother…she couldn’t see the handsome prince as he gave his lecture. The speech ended and the ground resounded with applause…That’s when it happened…someone sensed what she wanted…

"Very eager, aren't you little one?" whispered a hoarse voice.Almost simultaneously a large arm circled her. A powerful grip hoisted her above the ground. She was seated on the man’s shoulders. He was short but powerfully built with large hairy arms. She didn't evn try to see the man's face. They all had heard about the horrid Mustafa clan's men who could go to any extent to violate law and then fool law...Her neck was dear to her...on the hindsight,she was a bit excited too...

As she was seated on his shoulders, she felt a large hand with coarse skin slip into her gown.The man was feeling her milky plump thighs..then he squeezed a nerve bundle tight, Helen gasped. Suddenly, with a swift movement, his hand swept down to her crotch. He simply tore past her panties and caressed her vulva.Helen's heart was pounding like crazy, she kept gasping, and squeaking as the man spread her oozing juice all around her crotch.The with savage speed, he drove two of his fingers in. He moved the fingers out and then pushed three back in...Helen couldn't scream,she couldn't talk...she was shaking uncontrollably and after a few minutes of savage fingering,she couldn't take it anymore...She orgasmed and let out a yelp...

But by that time the time her fluid oozed out like a tiny rivulet,the crowd had began an unusual roar...a roar filled with all sorts of colorful adjectives and insults. The face of the alleged assassin had been revealed. Suddenly there was violent movement all around as people scuttered to find stones and hurl them at the condemned man.

The stocky man who held Helen, cursed her and put her down. Helen thought this was the end then..she was finally free...but that was not to be. The man had parted his robes to reveal his enormous blood-gorged penis. She gasped again. The man forced her down and she knew what he wanted. She used her tongue to flick the man's glans, teased him as he groaned and then took the entire thing into her mouth. She sucked out all the air from her mouth,made a perfect vacuum and sucked him back.the man grew harder. His nerves grew more pronounced and his manhood glistened in the sunlight. Sucked harder the second time...and the erotic motion continued... When he had had enough, he lifted her up, undid her gown...The lower part of it was undone and her buttocks were exposed...that was all the man would need. As they were jostled by the surrounding people who scrambled for space, the man came closer,and ran his penis along her vulva covering it with the juice that she was letting out incessantly. Helen was filled with an unreasonable longing and uncontrollable desire.The man squeezed her ass tight and parted it.She grabbed his huge penis which was hot and was pulsating like an animal and directed it to her own wet turgid sex. She Let out a yelp of white passion and pain as the entire length of the man's cock went inside...and then he began to fuck her. Lightning fast thrusts...all the while one of his thick fingers penetrated her anus and arse fucked her, while the other hand kneaded her ample breasts,twisting their nipples tightly...Helen moaned for sometime and then screamed as multiple orgasms hit her..a white hot searing light passed though her body,and her crotch.Her legs became wobbly.The man stopped, but only for a while,then the erotic motion began all over again...

The assassin was now being walked to the gallows..the poor man was already half dead. The executioner stood there smiling at his own grotesque rendition of the condemned man's last seconds. The crowd chanted "Death...Death" and the ground shook as adrenalin coursed through each person's body.The experience was unearthly.

The man pushed harder now...juice oozed out of her vagina.Evidently he was close to climax.Helen too was building in on her her climax.The anal fuck had made her go crazy..the heat, the stench of human sweat and the thunderous noise aroused her even more...

The condemned man's head was in the gallows...the executioner perfected his stance.The noise level of the crowd reached a new high so much so that even the foghorn was not heard.The executioner heaved up his axe, and with an expulsion of breath swung it down...

The man slammed Helen harder,his balls slapped audibly against her ass..he squeezed her ass hard and climaxed...His ejaculation was so powerful that some of his semen squirted back out of Helen's vagina...the warm sticky fluid all over her thighs,her vaginal walls made Helen come too...Juice gushed out of her sex and sprayed on the man's gown, her anus contracting and relaxing furiously...she was completely drained now. She fell on the ground clutching her clothes.

The hoarse voice was saying something amidst fits of laughter that sounded more like an animal's growling..."if the whore daughter of that old son of a bitch mayor took my cock the way you did, he wouldn't have to lie and rot so soon"

And the crowd chanted "Long live the mayor, long live his legacy..." unanimously...and their voices rose up in the stale Crete air...