Welcome back.
So I've been an infrequent visitor to the local trains in Bombay until recently, when the 9:35 a.m. from Jogeshwari to Churchgate (by around 10:18, give or take a minute) and I have become something of an item. Anybody can tell that the hour at which my journey takes place must be a bit hectic, considering it's a pretty conventional time for people to travel.
Anybody from Bombay will smile knowingly and assure me that I am in for a melange of sardinism and an extra order of elbow-in-your-facery.
But I've grown to quite like it, in these past couple of weeks. It seems like such a distinct part of my day now, and so different from the rest of my Bombay life, even though it is quite easily considered to be the essence or lifeline of the Mumbai Man.
I say 'Man' here in all seriousness. Ladies, I applaud your efforts of battling each day with your best chappal forward, leaving your worries of being ogled aside and riding the trains of Mumbai through hail and high water, I really do. But let's be honest. Aside from the drastic disparity in the mere population of the two sexes on these trains, the women are also comparatively docile and keen on just about getting along, while perhaps getting their veggies organized on the way home.
The men on the other hand. The men have it different. And before I proceed, let me just say although it is definitely and without a doubt quite bothersome to use these trains during rush hour, it is also quite a thing to marvel at for the amazing amenity and miracle of infrastructure that it is and at no point do I want to take any credit away from that very fact.
And now that I've said that, I can begin my lament.
On second thought, I think I will segue this lamenting business to a sense of appreciation actually.
The local train culture is definitely unique. What will strike any outsider quite soon after the sheer number of people inhabiting these little bogies (cars, train compartments, what-have-you) is the way in which the inhabitants interact. It is nothing short of odd.
Men holding other mens' hands has long been a picture of amusement for the modern citizen. Clutching each others' waists as they walk down a promenade while still somehow exuding a sense of machismo (that few will mistake for bad body odour) is a unique feature of the Indian male and will continue to be a distinct one -- while at no point being anything beyond an allusion to homosexuality because, really, these men are not usually sexually interested in one another.
They simply aren't.
Instead they are interested in developing relationships. Bonds. Strong, intangible, wonderful bonds that indicate a level of friendship that is quite remarkable, really. Their conversations are seldom shallow and mostly always filled with political and social commentary about the life and times of themselves, their sons and daughters and uncles and that one time they managed to get a massive discount on a television because they put a goat up as down payment. And now how they share each others' joys and sorrows, laughter and sadness, laddus and vegetarian patties.
It's all a bit sentimental really.
Something to point out here is that these passengers are also a very boisterous bunch. Make no mistake, their love for one another is evident as the weather is humid. But what will strike you is that these people, who for all intents and purposes are actually strangers to one another, save for the hour a day they spend riding the train together, are astonishingly violent! It's mental!
Like naughty kids in a boarding school playground in the monsoon, their hobbies include inflicting pain on one another and then laughing hysterically about it. All the while making poignant and heated eyes and really savouring the tension those stares create, if only for a few seconds.
And then it comes. The violence.
Each strike, each slap, each shove is masked with an air of brotherhood and affection that will elude your observation up until the moment their eyes light up and their serious grimaces turn into the widest grins of joy and excitement you never knew their minds could contain. Absurd.
Honestly, amidst the contorted stances each individual has the honour of holding while eagerly waiting for someone to leave a seat vacant, one would never guess that these trains are also host to a fraternity like none other. A fraternity so strong and and with such a magical foundation of hardship and life experiences -- it brings these train-journeymen together each day to laugh and occasionally hit, but mainly just support one another.
And it isn't just emotionally, mind you. They seem to love supporting each other physically too.
At least half these men really enjoy pretending to be furniture for hour-long trips.
And then to see them disperse. To disappear almost instantly, as though their lives had never been intertwined. One can't help but speculate and guess at their lives and wonder if they enjoy their jobs and love their families and ever go on holiday or basically do anything that is nearly as much fun to them as the time that they spend in each others' company every day in this wonderful, potpourri-like example of public transport.
--
Another observation I have made which is in a different sort of vein, a vein perhaps not comfortably found in everyone's umm... cardiovascula... okay I think I will drop this metaphor here.
The vein I refer to is the fact that at any point in time, this marvellous symbol of pulmonary infrastructure that Bombay is so proud to own... is also a moving weapon. A weapon capable of claiming dozens, if not millions (I may have my numbers skewed a bit) of lives every day just on the basis of an assumption. An assumption that each and every passenger is of sound mind and possesses regular motor skills and has a positive outlook to the concept of self-preservation. An assumption that at any point, a passenger won't (for reasons unbeknown to us) slip off the edge of the car, or protrude ever so slightly inducing harm to his body the likes of which are either irreparable or if nothing else, regrettable. The likes of which can't possibly be considered a liability by the Indian government because that would be an idiotic liability. Seriously, so many people use these trains! Wait let me go get a statistic.
Bear with me here.
SIX POINT NINE MILLION COMMUTERS DAILY. Whoa.
It may sound morbid, I know. Don't you think that I know? Well, I do. I know.
But there is something very, very ostensibly dark about standing at the edge of the train, holding onto the bar, as you stare at the cityscape sailing by, breeze swooping through sewage and hitting your face with a foul yet fun and familiar smell and your earphones squeeze the life out of a song that you can feel throbbing with the same pace as your heart as you think about your life and everything you've come to be and it is all okay and it is all affirmed when suddenly you realize that it could all end... in an instant.
Like standing on top of a skyscraper, or staring at the blade of a knife or thinking of crossing a National Highway during a particularly great stretch while SUVs are doing close to 200kmph.
I've always imagined what it would be like. Have you?
Splatter.
I suppose this is morbid. I suppose this isn't the choicest topic. But I can't help but think it and I suppose there's no harm in writing about it, because, I mean, this is the stuff that they depict in great films and books and if Bukowski could get so famous writing filth, why can't I?
(Yes, this guy just compared himself to Bukowski. And he also just said that he's about to get famous so maybe you ought to just smile and nod.)
It is an absurd thought though, isn't it? That something so integral to the way of life in Bombay can also be the harbinger of death and deformation? That something so precious and valuable to the citizens of Bombay where people learn to live together and forge meaningful and seemingly intransient relationships with one another can also be the home of immediate carnage if a passenger so saw fit? Or if he felt drowsy, or caught a bit of vertigo, or spent a second too long dwelling on his sorrowful life and then... and then poof.
I suppose that this is as good a point as any to aposiopesis my way out...
Cheerio.
Showing posts with label Travel. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Travel. Show all posts
Coffee, Pepper and Vanilla. (13th December 2010)
Feel like getting away from it all? Feel like a road trip or a trip to the wilderness? Feel like doing some farming? An urge to cultivate? Well, this is the place for you!
My brother's estate in Hassan, Karntaka is a fantastic way to spend a few days connecting with nature, learning about farm-life and having an all-around good time. Kick back with some great coffee (or beer and whisky) and relax in the arms of nature while pondering over your place in the world, perhaps. For lighter enjoyment, turn on the 42 inch plasma television and watch some Discovery Channel or Vh1! It's all happening and it's all delicious. Go ahead, plan a visit to Goorghully Estate and spend a few days with Chirag Mukerji. He could use the company and you... could use the time of your life.
Hello, I Love You, Won't You Tell Me Your Name? (26th November 2010)
I'm driving out in a few hours. Pune - Bangalore - Mysore - Hassan - Bangalore - Goa - Pune is the plan at the moment and everything seems peachy.
Let it roll, baby, roll.
------------
(10th December 2010)
Back home now. Two weeks and about 3500 kilometres later, I'd have to say this road trip has been all sorts of epic. 4 days in Bangalore, 3 in Mysore, 3 in Hassan, 3 in Goa and most of that in my trusty and wonderful 5-speed Maruti 800, with the music turned up. Way up.
The weather has been fantastic. I can't explain it.
I don't have anything against rain... but you know that bit just before the clouds burst and for a few moments, everything seems to be in a suspended state of 'pleasant'? Well, somehow, the Weather Gods deemed it fit to serve us with those very moments... stretched out into fourteen exquisite days, all across the Deccan Plateau and Western Ghats. Quite.
On a related and very interesting note, there's a word to describe the smell of the earth after rain: Petrichor.
So yes, the drive was excellent. Other highlights include catching some terrific live music, from Dub FX to the happy chaps on the Goa jazz/blues/rock circuit... and some invigorating physical activity in the form of trekking and dancing and a ridiculously redeeming game of basketball.
My mind's been wandering a heck of a lot these past two weeks... and hopefully the posts to follow will have some evidence of that. For now, try these on for size:
1.
Uh 2.
And uh 3.
"Baby don't you understand... what you're doing to the man."
Salut.
Let it roll, baby, roll.
------------
(10th December 2010)
Back home now. Two weeks and about 3500 kilometres later, I'd have to say this road trip has been all sorts of epic. 4 days in Bangalore, 3 in Mysore, 3 in Hassan, 3 in Goa and most of that in my trusty and wonderful 5-speed Maruti 800, with the music turned up. Way up.
The weather has been fantastic. I can't explain it.
I don't have anything against rain... but you know that bit just before the clouds burst and for a few moments, everything seems to be in a suspended state of 'pleasant'? Well, somehow, the Weather Gods deemed it fit to serve us with those very moments... stretched out into fourteen exquisite days, all across the Deccan Plateau and Western Ghats. Quite.
On a related and very interesting note, there's a word to describe the smell of the earth after rain: Petrichor.
So yes, the drive was excellent. Other highlights include catching some terrific live music, from Dub FX to the happy chaps on the Goa jazz/blues/rock circuit... and some invigorating physical activity in the form of trekking and dancing and a ridiculously redeeming game of basketball.
My mind's been wandering a heck of a lot these past two weeks... and hopefully the posts to follow will have some evidence of that. For now, try these on for size:
1.
Uh 2.
And uh 3.
"Baby don't you understand... what you're doing to the man."
Salut.
The Month of Juley (30th July 2010)
I went to Ladakh. I left Pune on the 6th, took a train to Delhi, spent a couple of days in Gurgaon, took a bus to Manali, spent a few days there, took another bus to Leh, spent a few days there and then returned to Pune via Manali and Delhi on the 23rd.
It was beautiful.
Now for the unabridged version.
Its funny how travelling has transformed into what it is today. The experience is more or less the same but the communication has become very crucial.
So I went to Ladakh. It is sincerely amazing, especially in its aesthetics. I also liked Manali very much and definitely recommend it to anyone. My intention was to write down the details of my journey, like a log book, in the hope that something good and inspired would come of it. I'm happy to report that it indeed did spur some beautiful stuff. Ignore the rest of the rant.
You've been warned :)
Oh, and I should add: as an avid computer-user, ergo - typist, the act of physically writing with a pen in a book was an experience in itself. It's a brilliant tool to extract the raw stuff. I find that writing in boxes like this gives the unconvicted author plenty of opportunities to edit and some times (and you might agree) leads to over-produced content. That said, writing in a book is fresh and hardly gives you a chance to look at what you've written, let alone understand it. Or maybe I'm speaking for myself here, but I took full liberty to scribble incomprehensibly so that the reading later on turned more interesting.
And boy, it did!
---
6th July - Pune. 0300 hours.
All packed. This bag is awesome. I looked underneath to find a zipper that unfolds a large sheet of tarp that functions as an umbrella! So neat. Thanks, Anuj!
This trip is going to be LEGEND
6th July - Train. 1220 hours.
... ARY.
I found a theme
I think.
Through the lens
Capsules of red light filter the delicate notes
Into a complexion of astute Peachfulness.
Bass lines quiver and linger
And pulverize the naked moss into memory.
9th July - Manali. 2155 hours.
So I was in Delhi for a couple of days. That was fun and it gave me a chance to realize that in spite of being away from the city for 3 months, everything is as clear as yesterday. Or last week.
Moving on to Manali though. What-the-fuck? This place is gorgeous. You've got beautiful mountains and snow-covered peaks in the distance. Rapids and rocks, multicultural stuff, yaks!
And an unparalleled acceptance of hashish.
11th July - Keylong. 2355 hours.
Shitty place. If you're coming through here, you may as well go 20km further and stay at Jispa. Whatever, it's only a night; but the HPTDC (Himachal Pradesh Tourism Development Corporation) is definitely very disappointing.
The weather, however, is great - I love it. The trip from Manali so far has been eventful, to say the least. Picturesque as hell and all that, but because of some unforeseen circumstances to do with land and slides, Rohtang Pass was blocked and the lot of us were made to trek over 3kms up a mountain!
Exhausting stuff, even though the air is very clear here. This trek was an absolute highlight, not soon forgotten - especially since I was carrying the massive bag I mentioned in the beginning of this story. But I suppose it was fun and besides, I felt very healthy :)
The journey after has been troublesome because we've been stuffed into the wrong side of a smaller bus. I vehemently discourage you from doing the HPTDC gig.
Rent a car or best yet - an enfield!
15th July - Leh. 2025 hours.
I'm sitting at a cafe by myself. Just ordered a chocolate cinnamon croissant at one of the MANY German styled bakeries this place seems to be flooded with.
Leh has been superb, despite the lack of Confluencing. I'm sure the music would have made it fabulous, though :(
Highlights:
1. The people - amazingly friendly, for the most part. Especially our driver-friend, Namgyal, who felt offended when we paid him extra. That was until we assured him it was "khushi se".
2. The landscape - honestly, so beautiful it is annoying! You are constantly under pressure to be taking it all in... enjoying the breathtaking view of the mountains and the hills and the rivers and the terrain and the blah blah... Aargh!
But then you take a deep breath and revisit images of your city in your head and everything is peachy again.
I rented an Enfield today! Picked an old-school-gears-on-the-right, maroon coloured geriatric. Why? It seemed more authentic. Thunderbirds are a dime a dozen here although I'm not sure if I'm still happy with my decision.
Riding through the hills on NH 1D past all the empty scape and army stuff was sensational. Every corner I took with that wretched beast added to the overall stud feel.
Awesome day. Started by visiting the Ancient Palace and was guided by an exceptionally quiet and cute little ten year old to-be-monk whose name I cannot recall/pronounce.
This place is pretty incredible and rightly up there amongst the world's favourite spots but you have to take the initiative (also money) to get out and ride, raft and revel.
Ok, on to number 3.
Have you ever been asked to pick between the beach and the mountains, when asked about ideal holiday destinations?
Well, pick no more. We found what I can only describe as paradise.
Picture a wide river flowing through a valley.
Picture sitting at the soft beach, watching the river flow by.
Picture rocky hills all around, speckled by patches of green trees.
Now zoom out, and picture the mountains in the distance, all covered in snow.
All the while dipping your toes into PURPLE (what?) sand. Man.
This place was/is exquisite.
And we found it accidentally, like all good things.
Beyond the Alchi temples and frescos, there's a path that will take you there. Purple beach, soft sand, wild flowers, brown hills, snow peaks in the distance and ice-cold water flowing like an untamed body of Fucking A.
Phew.
P.S: Why does the power go out so often here?
The croissant was alright. I think the food is unremarkable, or remarkable in that way.
18th July - Manali. 1207 hours.
We rented an Innova back to Manali. (Highly recommended)
The journey was easily better than the way there and we got to stop at every place we felt like - including TangLang La Pass at midnight to take a picture! The cold was biting.
I learnt two words in Leh. "Juley" which is pretty popular and you're bound to pick it up. It means "hello" or "good day" because you can say it whenever. It's definitely a great way to feel like you're fitting in.
The other word is "Kathaks" which I'm not sure of the literal translation but my understanding of it is to describe the white snow and the glaciers and how essential water is to life. Kathaks is a traditional scarf given to people as a means to welcome them.
Mine was given to me by a Bhikku Sanghasena - the founder president of the Mahabodhi International Meditation Centre. Now before I go ahead, let me affirm that I mean no disrespect to this man or his faith or to anything for that matter. I really like and admire him and applaud his service to humanity. I am expressing my opinions and their background lies in my critical approach to things in general, especially spiritual and religious topics. *Peace*
So yes, Bhikku. He is a great, tall man who reeks of positive energy and careful speech. Smiled throughout the conversation.
And why wouldn't he? He had everything a man could want, I imagine. Besides the bare necessities, he lives in luxury, has the view of the Himalayas outside his window, gets to wear super comfortable clothes and robes, has people waiting on him hand and foot.
And best of all, his voice is recorded and revered by everyone.
The things he'd say are put up on walls like epigraphs of holy script.
He is a wise man. Like any other wise man. Except willingly bald and using the power of his spirit to channel and command people's work and energy towards his purpose. His purpose is agreeable. His methods... maybe so. But his position causes me to wonder how these things happen in today's world of instant disbelief.
The dichotomy is startling. Cynics and agnostics have no say here. It is accepted and understood as law - and because his purpose is agreeable, everyone's more or less happy.
Which is fucking beautiful.
So maybe asking questions or speculating isn't the point.
The end justifies? I can't say.
Most old men are wise. I mean, if they aren't, they're just ignorant. The men who leave scope for more learning, understanding and most importantly - doubt, are the wise ones.
Wise men are those that have the capacity to understand anything and the discipline to know that they don't.
It's a form of self-awareness, or another word they like to throw around in an almost unfortunate fashion - meditation.
It's the Jesus of our age.
"Meditation is your only path to salvation." Sound familiar?
What I would suggest is a milder approach - where we're not pulling the wool over their eyes. People need/want guidance and answers. There is definitely a market here.
But stay responsible, you know?
Perhaps this is as responsible as they can be. Perhaps a younger voice might help. Just to offer corroboration. Just to keep them on their toes. Any good Jesus should be kept on his toes; just like any good parent should act - as a boat.
To take their children across the stream as gently as they row.
Ambedkar, Osho, this guy, Krishnamurti, the Dalai Lama and the guy who started Scientology are all examples of Jesus in the modern world. Or Mohammed or Guru Nanak or what have you.
And it's scary to me as much as inspiring.
Do I want to be Jesus? I don't know really... but I sure as hell would love the overwhelming validation these guys are privy to.
Imagine the power, the exhilaration.
And when that gets tiring - you've still got it made!
A roof, regular meals... and comfy clothes.
Amen.
It was beautiful.
Now for the unabridged version.
Its funny how travelling has transformed into what it is today. The experience is more or less the same but the communication has become very crucial.
So I went to Ladakh. It is sincerely amazing, especially in its aesthetics. I also liked Manali very much and definitely recommend it to anyone. My intention was to write down the details of my journey, like a log book, in the hope that something good and inspired would come of it. I'm happy to report that it indeed did spur some beautiful stuff. Ignore the rest of the rant.
You've been warned :)
Oh, and I should add: as an avid computer-user, ergo - typist, the act of physically writing with a pen in a book was an experience in itself. It's a brilliant tool to extract the raw stuff. I find that writing in boxes like this gives the unconvicted author plenty of opportunities to edit and some times (and you might agree) leads to over-produced content. That said, writing in a book is fresh and hardly gives you a chance to look at what you've written, let alone understand it. Or maybe I'm speaking for myself here, but I took full liberty to scribble incomprehensibly so that the reading later on turned more interesting.
And boy, it did!
---
6th July - Pune. 0300 hours.
All packed. This bag is awesome. I looked underneath to find a zipper that unfolds a large sheet of tarp that functions as an umbrella! So neat. Thanks, Anuj!
This trip is going to be LEGEND
6th July - Train. 1220 hours.
... ARY.
I found a theme
I think.
Through the lens
Capsules of red light filter the delicate notes
Into a complexion of astute Peachfulness.
Bass lines quiver and linger
And pulverize the naked moss into memory.
9th July - Manali. 2155 hours.
So I was in Delhi for a couple of days. That was fun and it gave me a chance to realize that in spite of being away from the city for 3 months, everything is as clear as yesterday. Or last week.
Moving on to Manali though. What-the-fuck? This place is gorgeous. You've got beautiful mountains and snow-covered peaks in the distance. Rapids and rocks, multicultural stuff, yaks!
And an unparalleled acceptance of hashish.
11th July - Keylong. 2355 hours.
Shitty place. If you're coming through here, you may as well go 20km further and stay at Jispa. Whatever, it's only a night; but the HPTDC (Himachal Pradesh Tourism Development Corporation) is definitely very disappointing.
The weather, however, is great - I love it. The trip from Manali so far has been eventful, to say the least. Picturesque as hell and all that, but because of some unforeseen circumstances to do with land and slides, Rohtang Pass was blocked and the lot of us were made to trek over 3kms up a mountain!
Exhausting stuff, even though the air is very clear here. This trek was an absolute highlight, not soon forgotten - especially since I was carrying the massive bag I mentioned in the beginning of this story. But I suppose it was fun and besides, I felt very healthy :)
The journey after has been troublesome because we've been stuffed into the wrong side of a smaller bus. I vehemently discourage you from doing the HPTDC gig.
Rent a car or best yet - an enfield!
15th July - Leh. 2025 hours.
I'm sitting at a cafe by myself. Just ordered a chocolate cinnamon croissant at one of the MANY German styled bakeries this place seems to be flooded with.
Leh has been superb, despite the lack of Confluencing. I'm sure the music would have made it fabulous, though :(
Highlights:
1. The people - amazingly friendly, for the most part. Especially our driver-friend, Namgyal, who felt offended when we paid him extra. That was until we assured him it was "khushi se".
2. The landscape - honestly, so beautiful it is annoying! You are constantly under pressure to be taking it all in... enjoying the breathtaking view of the mountains and the hills and the rivers and the terrain and the blah blah... Aargh!
But then you take a deep breath and revisit images of your city in your head and everything is peachy again.
I rented an Enfield today! Picked an old-school-gears-on-the-right, maroon coloured geriatric. Why? It seemed more authentic. Thunderbirds are a dime a dozen here although I'm not sure if I'm still happy with my decision.
Riding through the hills on NH 1D past all the empty scape and army stuff was sensational. Every corner I took with that wretched beast added to the overall stud feel.
Awesome day. Started by visiting the Ancient Palace and was guided by an exceptionally quiet and cute little ten year old to-be-monk whose name I cannot recall/pronounce.
This place is pretty incredible and rightly up there amongst the world's favourite spots but you have to take the initiative (also money) to get out and ride, raft and revel.
Ok, on to number 3.
Have you ever been asked to pick between the beach and the mountains, when asked about ideal holiday destinations?
Well, pick no more. We found what I can only describe as paradise.
Picture a wide river flowing through a valley.
Picture sitting at the soft beach, watching the river flow by.
Picture rocky hills all around, speckled by patches of green trees.
Now zoom out, and picture the mountains in the distance, all covered in snow.
All the while dipping your toes into PURPLE (what?) sand. Man.
This place was/is exquisite.
And we found it accidentally, like all good things.
Beyond the Alchi temples and frescos, there's a path that will take you there. Purple beach, soft sand, wild flowers, brown hills, snow peaks in the distance and ice-cold water flowing like an untamed body of Fucking A.
Phew.
P.S: Why does the power go out so often here?
The croissant was alright. I think the food is unremarkable, or remarkable in that way.
18th July - Manali. 1207 hours.
We rented an Innova back to Manali. (Highly recommended)
The journey was easily better than the way there and we got to stop at every place we felt like - including TangLang La Pass at midnight to take a picture! The cold was biting.
I learnt two words in Leh. "Juley" which is pretty popular and you're bound to pick it up. It means "hello" or "good day" because you can say it whenever. It's definitely a great way to feel like you're fitting in.
The other word is "Kathaks" which I'm not sure of the literal translation but my understanding of it is to describe the white snow and the glaciers and how essential water is to life. Kathaks is a traditional scarf given to people as a means to welcome them.
Mine was given to me by a Bhikku Sanghasena - the founder president of the Mahabodhi International Meditation Centre. Now before I go ahead, let me affirm that I mean no disrespect to this man or his faith or to anything for that matter. I really like and admire him and applaud his service to humanity. I am expressing my opinions and their background lies in my critical approach to things in general, especially spiritual and religious topics. *Peace*
So yes, Bhikku. He is a great, tall man who reeks of positive energy and careful speech. Smiled throughout the conversation.
And why wouldn't he? He had everything a man could want, I imagine. Besides the bare necessities, he lives in luxury, has the view of the Himalayas outside his window, gets to wear super comfortable clothes and robes, has people waiting on him hand and foot.
And best of all, his voice is recorded and revered by everyone.
The things he'd say are put up on walls like epigraphs of holy script.
He is a wise man. Like any other wise man. Except willingly bald and using the power of his spirit to channel and command people's work and energy towards his purpose. His purpose is agreeable. His methods... maybe so. But his position causes me to wonder how these things happen in today's world of instant disbelief.
The dichotomy is startling. Cynics and agnostics have no say here. It is accepted and understood as law - and because his purpose is agreeable, everyone's more or less happy.
Which is fucking beautiful.
So maybe asking questions or speculating isn't the point.
The end justifies? I can't say.
Most old men are wise. I mean, if they aren't, they're just ignorant. The men who leave scope for more learning, understanding and most importantly - doubt, are the wise ones.
Wise men are those that have the capacity to understand anything and the discipline to know that they don't.
It's a form of self-awareness, or another word they like to throw around in an almost unfortunate fashion - meditation.
It's the Jesus of our age.
"Meditation is your only path to salvation." Sound familiar?
What I would suggest is a milder approach - where we're not pulling the wool over their eyes. People need/want guidance and answers. There is definitely a market here.
But stay responsible, you know?
Perhaps this is as responsible as they can be. Perhaps a younger voice might help. Just to offer corroboration. Just to keep them on their toes. Any good Jesus should be kept on his toes; just like any good parent should act - as a boat.
To take their children across the stream as gently as they row.
Ambedkar, Osho, this guy, Krishnamurti, the Dalai Lama and the guy who started Scientology are all examples of Jesus in the modern world. Or Mohammed or Guru Nanak or what have you.
And it's scary to me as much as inspiring.
Do I want to be Jesus? I don't know really... but I sure as hell would love the overwhelming validation these guys are privy to.
Imagine the power, the exhilaration.
And when that gets tiring - you've still got it made!
A roof, regular meals... and comfy clothes.
Amen.
Can I Pet Your Wolverine? (21st April 2010)
(wrote this on the bus to bombay a few days ago. gotta love the blackberry)
Hello and welcome to the show. My glasses are off and I find all sorts of clarity in the blur. The guitar solo in freebird is on and playing in full volume in my head. Boofuckingya.
What is it that you want? Ok sorry, I don't mean to pressure you. What you want is personal. Purse Anal. Ok.
So the visuals in this country are amazing. Without a doubt. We have hills and shit, goddamnit. I don't know other countries well enough, though. I ought to.
I'd be lying if I didn't say money is posing itself troublesome. Why can't I hang for a bit?
What does it take to get a drink in this place?
Musicians and film makers are doing it right. Bill Hicks was too. Peace and love, y'all. P and L. RnR too. Respect and representation.
Hey-ee-ayyy. There's something very magical about the subconscious. Heck, I don't want to call it the subconscious. Why can't it be undefined? Like God and piousness. Or the length of your penis.
There's a tipping point somewhere in your mind and I feel like I'm tipping all over the place. It either means I'm doing something right or completely and utterly wrong. But then Superfast Jellyfish by the Gorillaz comes on and it re-affirms my belief in transitive meaning. All hail King Neptune and his water breathers. Don't waste time with your net, our net worth is set.
Gotta have it.
Hello and welcome to the show. My glasses are off and I find all sorts of clarity in the blur. The guitar solo in freebird is on and playing in full volume in my head. Boofuckingya.
What is it that you want? Ok sorry, I don't mean to pressure you. What you want is personal. Purse Anal. Ok.
So the visuals in this country are amazing. Without a doubt. We have hills and shit, goddamnit. I don't know other countries well enough, though. I ought to.
I'd be lying if I didn't say money is posing itself troublesome. Why can't I hang for a bit?
What does it take to get a drink in this place?
Musicians and film makers are doing it right. Bill Hicks was too. Peace and love, y'all. P and L. RnR too. Respect and representation.
Hey-ee-ayyy. There's something very magical about the subconscious. Heck, I don't want to call it the subconscious. Why can't it be undefined? Like God and piousness. Or the length of your penis.
There's a tipping point somewhere in your mind and I feel like I'm tipping all over the place. It either means I'm doing something right or completely and utterly wrong. But then Superfast Jellyfish by the Gorillaz comes on and it re-affirms my belief in transitive meaning. All hail King Neptune and his water breathers. Don't waste time with your net, our net worth is set.
Gotta have it.
MHC (1st March 2010)
He looks down at his plate, and looks back up at her.
This can’t work. This won’t work.
He stares at it again. The words “strawberry flavoured yoghurt” stare back at him from a little piece of paper.
This can’t work. This won’t work.
This is shit. I’m actually considering it. “Here, the fries are on me. Do it man, really. You may as well make this trip of yours exciting. Heck, it should be the only reason you go if you ask me. Not your gay conference…” He glances up. “Alright, ok ok I have to go… she’s looking this way. I think I’m going to ask her.” And he’s off. Off to his life. We used to be so similar, him and I. Weren't we?
I guess it depends on the context. I look down at my plate. One last fry. Heh.
It’s visible and it means that I am asking for her to bring herself to me. She sees me. Great. Smile, Bob, smile. Fuck! That fucking steward sees me too! C’mon sweetheart, beat him to me. You can do it. You have great calves. Alright focus, focus. There, she’s here. Now what was I going to say again? Oh yeah.
GET OUT THEN! AAAARGH! I didn’t choose this, Bob. You did. It’s your pathetic ride I’m a part of. Not the other way around. You’re lucky to have me. You’re just a voice in my head. I probably have loads more. But you PICKED me, don’t you get it? Like when you pick a car, or a colour, or a sofa, or that embarrassing litchi flavoured gelato you always do. Hold yourself responsible, kid. For once.
This can’t work. This won’t work.
He stares at it again. The words “strawberry flavoured yoghurt” stare back at him from a little piece of paper.
This can’t work. This won’t work.
“All you need to do is look her in the eye and say the words. That’s all there is to it. I’m telling you man, you could totally use this.” Jerry wasn’t usually someone he could trust. Shifty fellow, not much for real work. It’s always been side jobs for him.
“Man, I have this sweet set up at the McDonald’s near Garden Street. Starts at 4 so that gives me plenty of time to recover. I’m done by 11 and this girl there, Mindy. She is FIT. The things I would do to her… I haven’t really spoken to her yet, but there’s this party coming up at Dave’s…” he drones on. I don’t know how he does it. It’s been 6 years now and life just isn’t the same for me.
How does he do it? I’m better off. Right? But you have to hand it to him, he sure sounds like he’s having a good time. Maybe straight shooting isn’t the point.
This is shit. I’m actually considering it. “Here, the fries are on me. Do it man, really. You may as well make this trip of yours exciting. Heck, it should be the only reason you go if you ask me. Not your gay conference…” He glances up. “Alright, ok ok I have to go… she’s looking this way. I think I’m going to ask her.” And he’s off. Off to his life. We used to be so similar, him and I. Weren't we?
I guess it depends on the context. I look down at my plate. One last fry. Heh.
I look up at her again. She’s gorgeous. I could do without the make-up, though. I guess they need it on to make them more ‘aesthetic’. Who decides what’s aesthetically superior then? She doesn’t need it. You know, looking a bit natural doesn’t hurt anyone. Whatever, she’s still stunning. I’m going to do it. I’m going to ask her. Ok, here comes my hand… higher… higher… THERE!
It’s visible and it means that I am asking for her to bring herself to me. She sees me. Great. Smile, Bob, smile. Fuck! That fucking steward sees me too! C’mon sweetheart, beat him to me. You can do it. You have great calves. Alright focus, focus. There, she’s here. Now what was I going to say again? Oh yeah.
“Umm… Excuse me, miss, but do you happen to have any strawberry yoghurt?”
I look at her knowingly, yet unsure. She stares right back, but with a puzzled expression. She opens her mouth to say something. The pause is stark. The anticipation is real.
Her eyebrows point as if to say, “Are you sure you’re in the right place, pal?” but the words that come out are “Certainly, sir” and she walks off, exposing her criminal behind tightly wrapped by that cloth she calls a skirt.
Her eyebrows point as if to say, “Are you sure you’re in the right place, pal?” but the words that come out are “Certainly, sir” and she walks off, exposing her criminal behind tightly wrapped by that cloth she calls a skirt.
This is what the industry’s about, I tell myself. It’s tainted. A moment, and she’s back, handing me what looks like… YES! IT’S FUCKING STRAWBERRY YOGHURT! I knew it! I knew it was too good to be true. Jerry is such a bastard, I knew he was full of it.
Oh, what good is that now. “Thanks, dear.” Shit, why’d I say dear… I just called her DEAR? Brilliant. Just eat your fucking yoghurt, Bob. Scoop up that spineless rubbish. Yeah, I mean YOU.
I take the crummy little piece of paper filled with so much hope and I grin to myself. I knew this wouldn’t work. Ha. Wait a minute. Why the fuck am I so smug about this? This is just great, Bob. Now you have another unwritten story. Another fucking waste of space in your shitty memory. What good are you?
They’re telling me I’m going to be Vice President of Sales in the entire North Zone next year. That’s how good I am.
Wait, aren’t you selling magazine subscriptions? Haven’t you been doing that for 6 years now? Oh yeah, I forgot, you started out SMALLER. You’re a big man, aren’t you, Bob. You have a charming condominium in the South. You have wonderfully quaint furniture that accentuates your Moon sign. You must get laid a lo… oh yeah, that’s right. You DON’T. Why is it so important?? Maybe not, if it were something you would do maybe once in a YEAR. But not you, nooooo. You are too good for that. You want her to be smart, and funny, and cute and have dark, medium length hair and dimples when she smiles and someone you could go to the park with. She should own a German Shepherd, which means she’s warm but still a good task master. Right? An efficient, sensitive woman will make a great life partner, won’t she? Fuck you, Bob. I don’t know why I got stuck with you. I want out.
Wait, aren’t you selling magazine subscriptions? Haven’t you been doing that for 6 years now? Oh yeah, I forgot, you started out SMALLER. You’re a big man, aren’t you, Bob. You have a charming condominium in the South. You have wonderfully quaint furniture that accentuates your Moon sign. You must get laid a lo… oh yeah, that’s right. You DON’T. Why is it so important?? Maybe not, if it were something you would do maybe once in a YEAR. But not you, nooooo. You are too good for that. You want her to be smart, and funny, and cute and have dark, medium length hair and dimples when she smiles and someone you could go to the park with. She should own a German Shepherd, which means she’s warm but still a good task master. Right? An efficient, sensitive woman will make a great life partner, won’t she? Fuck you, Bob. I don’t know why I got stuck with you. I want out.
GET OUT THEN! AAAARGH! I didn’t choose this, Bob. You did. It’s your pathetic ride I’m a part of. Not the other way around. You’re lucky to have me. You’re just a voice in my head. I probably have loads more. But you PICKED me, don’t you get it? Like when you pick a car, or a colour, or a sofa, or that embarrassing litchi flavoured gelato you always do. Hold yourself responsible, kid. For once.
That’s it! THAT’S IT! There you go. No no, that’s IT! He waves a little piece of paper as his neighbour wakes up to the strange animation. “Flavoured! I didn’t say flavoured!” He shoots his hand right up, this time with more vigour and confidence than he has ever shown in the past six years. The blood rushing through his veins, his head, his phallic limb gesturing to the woman to come. And she does. Right fucking away.
“Strawberry flavoured yoghurt please.” She smiles. Her lips widen and it’s as though her teeth sparkle. No kidding. Right, this is it. What next? Let’s let her guide me, then. I saw the way she was pointing at the emergency exits. She knows her stuff. Yeah.
Wow, this is going to be excellent. Her eyes point to the toilet. She says it again, except this time the words have so many fucking awesome connotations. “Certainly, sir.” Certainly fucking A.
I’m doing this. I jump out of my seat, and stroll towards the bathroom. Like a Bee Gee, I walk by all the suckers listening to their iPods and reading their lifestyle magazines.
Haha, ironic. Lifestyle magazines.
Well, they ARE the windows to the world.
Ok, no shop talk. This is going to be off the hook.
Ok, no shop talk. This is going to be off the hook.
ENOUGH! Get out if you’re going to be lippy. But stay, if you’re finally ENJOYING THE RIDE, BITCH. Hah. Look at me now. Take a look at me now. This is going to HAPPEN. The sign says vacant. I have to keep it that way, Jerry said.
Alright. Vacant it is.
I check my hair in the mirror. The twirl is just right. This is perfect.
*Click.* She walks in. Smiles. Wow, what a smile. What a woman.
She sits me down. “You’re new”, she grins.
“I know.”
The End.
(tasteful song here) (depending on taste, of course)
(I'm thinking If She Wants Me)
Blueberry Cheesecake (11th November 2009)
Slice One - Standing in a crowded bus, covered in sweat.
It isn't my sweat. Unwillingly subjected to the grime these 9-5ers seem to have accumulated, I stand grinning because one of my senses is distinguisingly privileged.
I have music.
Slice Two - Sitting at someone else's desk at the office.
Trying to use the internet; the server is down, but I will persistently hit the refresh button, hoping it will catch a little signal and then I will have the world at my finger tips. What do I need it for? I don't know yet but it's nice to have the option. The A/C runs dry air consistently through its vents and my fingers are cold. Not entirely sure how to keep myself busy but I've put my friendly face on and it's Day 1 on the battlefield.
Looking forward to Day 2... mostly because it means Day 1 will be over.
Slice Three - Staring at a beautifully lit wooden stage in an auditorium.
One of those classy halls with heavy carpets and comfy seats filled with people wearing mufflers... and reading glasses. There are two elegantly dressed Spanish women bowing to the audience; then they begin their recital. Piano and violin. Classic. They swim through symphonies and give me a lot to think about. My ears and eyes are soaking in the music, but everything else is everywhere else. Where am I going to go after this? Who am I going to meet? How am I going to get there? What am I going to eat? When am I going to find a house for myself? Is this the life?
Well it sure is exciting.
-----------------------------------
"That's enough, thanks", I said to the waiter. The spread is amazing and I am stuffed. This cheesecake really hit the spot. I want to go home now.
But it isn't for me to decide, I need to wait on my Uncle and his wife. I'm at a 40th birthday party, and it is hopping.
I'm outside the city; outside the state, rather. Magnificent house - so many rooms, so much space, yet still very homely. No frills spared, the caterers walked around serving fancy hors doeuvres to the fancy guests. Needless to say, I felt out of place.
But then I also felt completely in place. I watched as these people twenty years older than me were dancing and singing awkwardly and it was exactly like the parties I've been to, minus the fancy stuff.
Honestly, this generation gap business is a myth. Yeah, we were born into the internet and yeah, we are quicker to grasp shit but NO to everything else.
Intelligence is a language by itself and if I looked a little older and wasn't introduced as anyone's nephew, the whole of that night would have been an experiment in camouflage. It made me reflect constantly, like a fucking house of mirrors this party. These people knew each other in all shapes and ways. Some went to college together, some work together, some slept with each other but things didn't work out, some are somebody else's friend and so on.
Sound familiar?
Of course it does.
Their language, their relationships, their concepts felt so synonymous and I felt like I could relate. Once we were comfortable, we got to talking about everything from naming kids to psychoactive drugs. It was amazing. I stood fascinated at how everyone gelled together and I thought about how everyone who grows up with you is obviously someone you consider close. But then there really is no finishing line to the process, is there? We're always growing up.
And then we die.
Haha, I'm only kidding. I mean, yes of course, we do die. Eventually. But there's loads of room for some fun in between. And I was witness to a heck of a lot of that at this soiree. Good time.
This new city life ain't so bad.
And I fucking love blueberry cheesecake.
It isn't my sweat. Unwillingly subjected to the grime these 9-5ers seem to have accumulated, I stand grinning because one of my senses is distinguisingly privileged.
I have music.
Slice Two - Sitting at someone else's desk at the office.
Trying to use the internet; the server is down, but I will persistently hit the refresh button, hoping it will catch a little signal and then I will have the world at my finger tips. What do I need it for? I don't know yet but it's nice to have the option. The A/C runs dry air consistently through its vents and my fingers are cold. Not entirely sure how to keep myself busy but I've put my friendly face on and it's Day 1 on the battlefield.
Looking forward to Day 2... mostly because it means Day 1 will be over.
Slice Three - Staring at a beautifully lit wooden stage in an auditorium.
One of those classy halls with heavy carpets and comfy seats filled with people wearing mufflers... and reading glasses. There are two elegantly dressed Spanish women bowing to the audience; then they begin their recital. Piano and violin. Classic. They swim through symphonies and give me a lot to think about. My ears and eyes are soaking in the music, but everything else is everywhere else. Where am I going to go after this? Who am I going to meet? How am I going to get there? What am I going to eat? When am I going to find a house for myself? Is this the life?
Well it sure is exciting.
-----------------------------------
"That's enough, thanks", I said to the waiter. The spread is amazing and I am stuffed. This cheesecake really hit the spot. I want to go home now.
But it isn't for me to decide, I need to wait on my Uncle and his wife. I'm at a 40th birthday party, and it is hopping.
I'm outside the city; outside the state, rather. Magnificent house - so many rooms, so much space, yet still very homely. No frills spared, the caterers walked around serving fancy hors doeuvres to the fancy guests. Needless to say, I felt out of place.
But then I also felt completely in place. I watched as these people twenty years older than me were dancing and singing awkwardly and it was exactly like the parties I've been to, minus the fancy stuff.
Honestly, this generation gap business is a myth. Yeah, we were born into the internet and yeah, we are quicker to grasp shit but NO to everything else.
Intelligence is a language by itself and if I looked a little older and wasn't introduced as anyone's nephew, the whole of that night would have been an experiment in camouflage. It made me reflect constantly, like a fucking house of mirrors this party. These people knew each other in all shapes and ways. Some went to college together, some work together, some slept with each other but things didn't work out, some are somebody else's friend and so on.
Sound familiar?
Of course it does.
Their language, their relationships, their concepts felt so synonymous and I felt like I could relate. Once we were comfortable, we got to talking about everything from naming kids to psychoactive drugs. It was amazing. I stood fascinated at how everyone gelled together and I thought about how everyone who grows up with you is obviously someone you consider close. But then there really is no finishing line to the process, is there? We're always growing up.
And then we die.
Haha, I'm only kidding. I mean, yes of course, we do die. Eventually. But there's loads of room for some fun in between. And I was witness to a heck of a lot of that at this soiree. Good time.
This new city life ain't so bad.
And I fucking love blueberry cheesecake.
These are the Days. (5th June 2009)
I pressed my back against the seat and placed my head closer
The wind swept across me and pushed my grin wide
My eyes can see fleeting pictures of dark covered streets and the hills at the distance
My ears listen to the cascading melody and the precise euphoric beat
My skin can feel the touch of soft faces beside me
My thoughts are filled with energy
And my lips taste of scotch.
These are the Days.
The wind swept across me and pushed my grin wide
My eyes can see fleeting pictures of dark covered streets and the hills at the distance
My ears listen to the cascading melody and the precise euphoric beat
My skin can feel the touch of soft faces beside me
My thoughts are filled with energy
And my lips taste of scotch.
These are the Days.
A Great Way to Spend Your Day (17th July 2008)
Hello and welcome to the show. My name is V and I am about to recount my experience with LSD. It’s hard to explain... but you need to know. This line will recur, but I assure you, that you need to know; in spite of it being hard to explain :D
We are all trippers, you and I, listening to different kinds of music. That’s what it seems to be about, and I guess it can be described this way. I hope you agree. But I guess that all I can hope for is that you’re listening to the song I’m listening to, at the moment. If I were to be foolish enough to hope in the first place, that is. You and I may even like the same type of music, but that doesn’t mean we need to be listening to the same song at the same time, and that minor difference, is what separates you from me. I cannot deny that you are separated from me. Well I cannot only because I can’t seem to imagine how. But however connected you and I may feel, it is only fleeting and temporary, as is ‘life’; and you can always walk out the door while tipping your hat to that statement. “C’est la vie” and all that. I seem to be brimming with wisdom right now... and it’s hard to explain.
But you need to know :D
Reality is this little party that you and I are attending. So is everyone else. So don’t forget to get fries with your steak, and make sure your glass is empty. Aside from all this rubbish I seem to be on about, I think what my friend here is trying to say, is that reality is what binds us. You and I. We are all left to our own devices, our own journeys, our lives and our Sunday ‘trips’ to the park... but what connects us and what brings us back is this ‘real’ stuff. See now, you may see pink and I see blue, but when we see red together, that’s what we can refer to as REALITY! You dig? Even if you don’t, what can I say? It’s hard to explain... but (you know how this goes:D)
Wait, what’s this? I came here to read about some trippy guy’s trip on trippy stuff! What’s all this real nonsense? Get to the flipping diamonds already, Lucy!
People will and do not believe me when I say I have done acid. Not that it’s a difficult thing to digest, but, oh wait; we’re not talking about the acid yet, are we? So yes, LSD. What it’s like. How does one describe it? Hmmm.
It is one massive mind game motherfucker. For the rest, and if you care to read up, the former portion of this story, I would politely ask you to imagine that I am referring to life. (Life being my topic of discussion). So yes, one large mind game. It is what it is, I’ll give you that. Perception in its truest sense. If there is a true sense, mind you. It basically gives you the freedom to do with your mind what you will. If you want colours then by jolly, you will see colours. Patterns and shapes galore, your trip will seem full of ups and downs and best of all, gives you the ultimate control to decide whether you’d like to see the up, or the down. And that control starts to slip from your fingers. You’re still in control, but less in control of what you would believe control to be. But no, don’t be nervous or wary. EMBRACE IT. Ride the fucking snake. (Yes, I’m still talking about life)
Your brain takes you from one moment to the next in the most elegant and organized fashion, and you see this pattern form in front of you, as each individual’s little autobiography, and it’s brilliant. But ah, with acid, you understand that it is in holding on to that loss of control that counts. “Stop tracing, start spacing”, as he put it.
Music comes alive on your trip. Well it did for mine, anyway. (No, I’m not done with life just yet). The notes and waves bounce around as you see the sound in its utmost clarity. Everything is b-e-yootiful. But this could just as well be me tripping. Haha honestly though, your trip is up to you. You come into it looking for gloom and despair, up comes a double order of depression with some melancholy on the side. But if you’re into it for the divine pursuit of happiness, boy! Do you have an amazing trip in store for you! As you drift in and out of reality, as you stray from exceeding forms of awareness to being absolutely, yet comfortably numb, you start to recognize and realize what it is you truly think it’s about. And that, dear reader, is another way of saying that your favourite artist is left on queue. So get to it. REVEL.
Yes, there are boundaries, yes, there are limits. The Coming Home at Five chapter is quite possibly the epitome of my trip-limit, but you move past it; you transcend. Take it as it comes buddy, and wave at the friendly folk that walk by... because TONIGHT, WE PARTY. Ladies and gentlemen, it really is your trip and I would much prefer to let the space do the talking. So please understand that it is hard to explain, but I cannot possibly stress on this any further - YOU NEED TO KNOW!
Oh, and about that acid. Well what can I say? It’s a great way to spend your day :D
We are all trippers, you and I, listening to different kinds of music. That’s what it seems to be about, and I guess it can be described this way. I hope you agree. But I guess that all I can hope for is that you’re listening to the song I’m listening to, at the moment. If I were to be foolish enough to hope in the first place, that is. You and I may even like the same type of music, but that doesn’t mean we need to be listening to the same song at the same time, and that minor difference, is what separates you from me. I cannot deny that you are separated from me. Well I cannot only because I can’t seem to imagine how. But however connected you and I may feel, it is only fleeting and temporary, as is ‘life’; and you can always walk out the door while tipping your hat to that statement. “C’est la vie” and all that. I seem to be brimming with wisdom right now... and it’s hard to explain.
But you need to know :D
Reality is this little party that you and I are attending. So is everyone else. So don’t forget to get fries with your steak, and make sure your glass is empty. Aside from all this rubbish I seem to be on about, I think what my friend here is trying to say, is that reality is what binds us. You and I. We are all left to our own devices, our own journeys, our lives and our Sunday ‘trips’ to the park... but what connects us and what brings us back is this ‘real’ stuff. See now, you may see pink and I see blue, but when we see red together, that’s what we can refer to as REALITY! You dig? Even if you don’t, what can I say? It’s hard to explain... but (you know how this goes:D)
Wait, what’s this? I came here to read about some trippy guy’s trip on trippy stuff! What’s all this real nonsense? Get to the flipping diamonds already, Lucy!
People will and do not believe me when I say I have done acid. Not that it’s a difficult thing to digest, but, oh wait; we’re not talking about the acid yet, are we? So yes, LSD. What it’s like. How does one describe it? Hmmm.
It is one massive mind game motherfucker. For the rest, and if you care to read up, the former portion of this story, I would politely ask you to imagine that I am referring to life. (Life being my topic of discussion). So yes, one large mind game. It is what it is, I’ll give you that. Perception in its truest sense. If there is a true sense, mind you. It basically gives you the freedom to do with your mind what you will. If you want colours then by jolly, you will see colours. Patterns and shapes galore, your trip will seem full of ups and downs and best of all, gives you the ultimate control to decide whether you’d like to see the up, or the down. And that control starts to slip from your fingers. You’re still in control, but less in control of what you would believe control to be. But no, don’t be nervous or wary. EMBRACE IT. Ride the fucking snake. (Yes, I’m still talking about life)
Your brain takes you from one moment to the next in the most elegant and organized fashion, and you see this pattern form in front of you, as each individual’s little autobiography, and it’s brilliant. But ah, with acid, you understand that it is in holding on to that loss of control that counts. “Stop tracing, start spacing”, as he put it.
Music comes alive on your trip. Well it did for mine, anyway. (No, I’m not done with life just yet). The notes and waves bounce around as you see the sound in its utmost clarity. Everything is b-e-yootiful. But this could just as well be me tripping. Haha honestly though, your trip is up to you. You come into it looking for gloom and despair, up comes a double order of depression with some melancholy on the side. But if you’re into it for the divine pursuit of happiness, boy! Do you have an amazing trip in store for you! As you drift in and out of reality, as you stray from exceeding forms of awareness to being absolutely, yet comfortably numb, you start to recognize and realize what it is you truly think it’s about. And that, dear reader, is another way of saying that your favourite artist is left on queue. So get to it. REVEL.
Yes, there are boundaries, yes, there are limits. The Coming Home at Five chapter is quite possibly the epitome of my trip-limit, but you move past it; you transcend. Take it as it comes buddy, and wave at the friendly folk that walk by... because TONIGHT, WE PARTY. Ladies and gentlemen, it really is your trip and I would much prefer to let the space do the talking. So please understand that it is hard to explain, but I cannot possibly stress on this any further - YOU NEED TO KNOW!
Oh, and about that acid. Well what can I say? It’s a great way to spend your day :D
X (5th June 2008)
It’s a wonderful feeling
To be free.
You are you and I am I
And that plane is where it is while those shoes are here.
But we are all under the blanket.
And outside of this blanket is more blanket.
We are but one and perception is the flaw
Consciousness is the assumption while reality appears dual.
Welcome to infinity, my friend.
Smile as you like and frown when you mean it.
For it all matters but nothing matters, so you see-
It depends on how you look at it
Illusions come about for many reasons
And perception allows for illusions to exist.
Time and consciousness and death and life
Are mere words and classifications that hold the weight of the world
And this weight is nothing.
But we tread on.
And we must... so go forth my fellow traveller
Go forth on this journey of none
Come back when you will or move forward to the end
Make oil and water and enemies, dear friend.
Be who you must, for you are free. You are condemned to this freedom.
Let us all tread on, with our heads full of dignity
As I said before dear traveler, welcome to infinity.
To be free.
You are you and I am I
And that plane is where it is while those shoes are here.
But we are all under the blanket.
And outside of this blanket is more blanket.
We are but one and perception is the flaw
Consciousness is the assumption while reality appears dual.
Welcome to infinity, my friend.
Smile as you like and frown when you mean it.
For it all matters but nothing matters, so you see-
It depends on how you look at it
Illusions come about for many reasons
And perception allows for illusions to exist.
Time and consciousness and death and life
Are mere words and classifications that hold the weight of the world
And this weight is nothing.
But we tread on.
And we must... so go forth my fellow traveller
Go forth on this journey of none
Come back when you will or move forward to the end
Make oil and water and enemies, dear friend.
Be who you must, for you are free. You are condemned to this freedom.
Let us all tread on, with our heads full of dignity
As I said before dear traveler, welcome to infinity.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)