I feel like silk. If it were chilled, I'd want to breathe it. I want the car radio to come back to its loyal, functional self. I miss reclining. I miss a dimly lit velvet touch. I want an easy chair; those vintage loungers with broad wooden, varnished handles. I want my long hair back. For there to be greenery around; not just hopelessly predictable money plants in green wine bottles: the standard aesthetic trick in every cafe's book. Why can't we just flow and oscillate between a beach, and back then. "Here comes the sun little darling, little darling.." I miss certain friends, the properly mad ones, and the established insane. I miss nameless black and white shots of vaguely familiar grins. And I wonder where, and how -- if yes -- is the better place, that I might want to be in, on this date, and three after.
8 comments:
Beautiful.
[What is it you do nowadays? You should be a writer of some kind. Are you working on your magnum opus?]
Thanks. I try:P
[I'm still wasting my life though , except now its happenig within the confines of an organisation hell bent on saving tigers. Dogs not allowed.
I intend to move on soon; to where, I haven't a clue, but these wretched writerly aspirations are going to be the end of me. And hardly Magnum Opus, pamphlet-y chick lit maybe:)]
THE Magnum Opus is an idea, so don't pine. Like THE College. It doesn't exist. Easy praise by the usually dumb visitors to your page (usually from THE college), apart from casting the familiar in-breeding air, lulls you into a world of inaction and disbelief that this restlessness that you portray so painfully is just "beautiful".
About the restlessness, look, you know your Kundera, so I don't need to lecture (again), but why is it so difficult to understand that saving tigers is different from writing about saving tigers? Why is it so difficult to be just a professional and not also bleed at the same time?
Am not so sure about those B&W photographs, is that a real imagery?
By the way, it's more than a pamphet-y chicklit (whatever that may be) if only there was a hint of THE event that's playing out its course, connecting these paragraphs.
Ouch. Is that a barb about St Stephen's?
Pain and restlessness may be more than beautiful, but I can still describe the writing as beautiful right? I could have gone for "evocative" or some other fancy word, but one tries to keep it simple.
ualtruh: you altruist!
It's hard to read your blog with this particular background.
Oops, am THE outsider I think, have I ruffled the genteel environs somewhat? Sorry. The Kundera reference, if you insist, is, Life is Elsewhere. Which brings me to the question, having posted my comments on the 19th, exactly three days after your entry -- unless it was just a typo and you meant 'there' -- Where are you now? Saving tigers, by the way, is making news as of today. So, may be this is your elsewhere.
Pixie: if anon is indeed you, hi, don't apologise for ruffled feathers, just, well, er, meet Yohan. [Yohan: pix- LSR, Pix: Yohan -- THA college (PLAY BALL!):] Aah, mud slinging. The good life. Personally I prefer feedback on just how bad fuschia bad is, but thats alright, you can roll on about my here there tiger stare, I'll still take elsewhere.
Blogo; Monsieur K, *tips hat* long time! I'm working on the background. Rather, am outsourcing the aesthetic touch by harrassing this one heck of an html savvy girlfriend to get on it. What to do, she's slow. These daily wagers, I tell you..
I accept the new layout. But I would like to see some more of your incisive writing on Delhi, woodchucker dearest.
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