The Howlin' Blues

Brothersport (Lyrics) -Animal Collective

2009-01-21T11:13:00.002+05:30

ANIMAL COLLECTIVE

Open up your
Open up your
Open up your throat
And let all of that time
All of that time
All of that time
All of that time go!

I know it sucks that Daddy's done
But try to think of what you want
You've got to open up your
Open up your
Open up your throat

Matt!
Open up your
(Open up your)
Open up your throat

Open up your
Open up your
Open up your throat
And let all of that time
All of that time
All of that time
All of that time go!

I know it sucks that Daddy's done
But try to think of what you want
You've got to open up your
Open up your
Open up your throat

Matt!
Sport, brother
Support your brother

You got to weigh what you say
To help you change the way you play
You gotta get rid of your mourning
You gotta hound them til their done

Whoo!

Matt!
You're halfway until you're fully grown
You've got a real good shot
Open up don't hold inside:
"Keep it real, keep it real
Shout it out"

Until you're fully grown
You've got a real good shot
Open up don't hold inside:
"Keep it real, keep it real
Shout it out"

Matt!

No More Runnin' (Lyrics) -Animal Collective

2009-01-21T11:12:00.002+05:30

NO MORE RUNNIN'

No more runnin says my mind
All this movement has just proved
your kisses are too fine

Not much harmony
From what I see
Friends I once had
Turn their thoughts away from me

No more runnin
I've got to breathe
On back porches
With the torch of a firefly
And trees

It's what I hoped for
Whoa
It's what I hoped for
Whoa
No more runnin
No more runnin

Cause you are candy
In my teeth
Please don't lose your faith in me

If you are candy
In my teeth
Please don't lose your faith in me

No more runnin
Says my mind
All this movement has just
proved your kisses are too fine

It's what I hoped for
Whoa
It's what I hoped for
Whoa
No more runnin
No more runnin
No more runnin
No more runnin

Taste (Lyrics) -Animal Collective

2009-01-21T11:10:00.001+05:30

TASTE

There's a secret place I hide that's deep inside of me
An elusive voice that tells me what I like now
You might think I'm going to judge you in your fancy place
I don't really give the credit to what taste does
Cause I don't care if you don't like that
You'll get your feelings hurt, but I'll forget its bad
And if I like you it's for your simple ways
And we will always be at a tasty place
And you can cook a rose but I don't eat those

(Taste, yeah it's the taste)
Taste

Doll, I dearly tried to like the clothes you chose for me
Something in my heart can tell me it's a weakness
But I got shocked and picked some flowers since you wouldn't dare
Take a woman's blouse and send it for your son to wear.
But when we share our important views
You get a glimpse of me, I get a glimpse of you
And I don't really care if I don't change your ways
If you won't always be at our tasty place
And you can cook a rose but I don't eat those

(Taste, yeah it's the taste)
Taste

Am I really all the things that are outside of me

Am I real

Guy's Eyes (Lyrics) -Animal Collective

2009-01-21T11:09:00.002+05:30

GUY'S EYES

I really want to do just what my body wants to
I really want to do just what my body needs to
I really want to show to my girl that I want her
I really want to show to my girl that I need her

I want to do what my body needs to
I want to show to my girl that I need her

I started using my mind
And I used my hands
It was what I want to

Bluish (Lyrics)- Animal Collective

2009-01-21T11:08:00.002+05:30

BLUISH

When you claw me like a cat, I'm beaming
I like the way you squeeze my hand
Pulling me into another dream,
A lucid dream.

I'm getting lost in your curls
I'm getting crushed out on the things
that only I should see
not for boys, they're just for me
Hurry to talk, from far away

I can see you, you curl your fists and you pull your hair
When we're alone, I wanna say
Let's just stay in, no one's here (???????)

Put on the dress that I like
It makes me so crazy, though I can't say why
Keep on your stockings for a while
Some kind of magic in the way you're lying there

I'm getting lost in your curls
I'm getting rushed back on a whim,
Our breaths get wind
Back to the time when we will greet
I know we have changed
But I still grin 'cause I can't wait to see you
Back to the time I touched your hair

Daily Routine(Lyrics) -Animal Collective

2009-01-21T11:08:00.001+05:30

DAILY ROUTINE

Just a sec more in my bed
Hope my machine's working right
When it's just precisely tuned
That's how it's going to end up so nice

Make sure my kid's got a jacket
Keys and coat and shoes and hat
Strap a stroller to my back
Bouncing along every crack

What good is it to make it fast
Sing a song to pass the playground
What can I do as traffic pass
Guard my girl from muffler's black gas
What can I do to make it fast
Pop a jump but not too hard
Take a little look up at the ramp
Stop and look at the traffic signal

Just a sec more in my bed
Hope my machine's working right

Summertime Clothes(Lyrics) -Animal Collective

2009-01-21T11:06:00.001+05:30

SUMMERTIME CLOTHES

Sweet summer night but I'm stripped to my sheets
Forehead is leaking, the AC squeaks and
A voice from the clock says, "You're not gonna get tired"
My bed is a pool and the walls are on fire
Soak my head in the sink for a while
Chills on my neck and it makes me smile but
My bones have to move and my skin's gotta breathe
You pick up the phone and I'm so relieved
You slide down your stairs to the heated street
The sun has left us with slippery feet
And I want to walk around with you
And I want to walk around with you
And be here with you and go out

It doesn't really matter, I'll go where you feel
Hump for the breeze, get a midnight meal
I point in the windows, you point out the parks
Rip up your sleeves and I'll ditch my socks
Dance to the songs from the cars as they pass
Weave through the cardboard, smell that trash
Walking around in our summertime clothes,
Nowhere to go while our bodies blow
But we'll greet the dawn with morning blues
In purple yards we'll be sleeping soon
And I want to walk around with you
And I want to walk around with you

When the sun goes down, we'll go out again
When the sun goes down, we'll get wet again
Don't cool off, I like your walk

I see the sound of the heat for the sound of the rain
It's easy to sleep when it whets my brain
It covers my rest with a saccharine sheen
Kissing the wind through the window screen
It's a restless cause that I cannot hide
So much of my mind, man, it spills outside
Do you want to go stroll down the financial streets?
Our clothes might get soaked, but the buildings sleep
Because there's no one pushing for a place
The ins and outs of an easy pace
And I want to walk around with you
And I want to walk around with you
I want to walk around with you
Just you, just you, just you.

Also Frightened (Lyrics) -Animal Collective

2009-01-21T11:05:00.002+05:30

ALSO FRIGHTENED

Ghosts came crowding around and then
I woke, you slept there on your side
From our window, two lanterns draw signs on the night
And light our two shadows I watch with delight
Will I want them to be who they will be
Or to be more like their dad

Will it be just like they're dreaming
Will it be just like I'm dreaming
Will it be just like they're dreaming
Will it be just like I'm dreaming

The influence is relative
Maybe I should let them
Maybe we should let them
And I have a question:

Are you also frightened?

And no one should call you a dreamer

My Girls (Lyrics) -Animal Collective

2009-01-21T11:05:00.001+05:30

MY GIRLS

There isn't much that I feel I need
A solid soul and the blood I bleed
With a little girl, and by my spouse
I only want a proper house

I don't care for fancy things
Or to take part in a precious wait
And to provide the man you ask
I will, with heart, on my father's grave

I don't mean
To seem like I care about material things
Like a social status
I just want
Four walls and adobe slabs
For my girls

In The Flowers (Lyrics) -Animal Collective

2009-01-21T11:04:00.002+05:30

IN THE FLOWERS

Met a dancer
Who was high in a field
From her movement
Caught my breath on my way home
Couldn't stop that spinning force
I felt in me
Everything around seemed to giggle glee
She walked up with a flower and I cared

Got a dancer
Who gets wild to the beats of record rhythms
But I'm always away for weeks
That pass slow my
Mind gets lost
Feeling envy for the kid who'll dance despite anything
Oh while out in the flowers I feel better

If I could just leave my body for the night

Then we could be dancing
No more missing you while I'm gone
There we could be dancing
And you'd smile and say, "I like this song"
And when our eyes will meet there
We will recognize nothing's wrong
And I wouldn't feel so selfish
I won't be this way very long

To hold you in time
To hold you in time
To hold you in time
To hold you in time

While we were dancing
Early hours
Drunken days finally ended
And the streets turned for a pillowcase
Then I fumbled our good lock
Then the ecstasy turns to rising light
Through our windowpane
Now I'm gone
I left flowers for you there

Shhh
You're a dancer
I'm a dancer

Animal Collective [Merriweather Post Pavilion] Lyrics

2009-01-21T10:57:00.003+05:30

This is one of the best albums I have ever come across.

This is the track listing:

01. In The Flowers[5:22]
02. My Girls[5:41]
03. Also Frightened[5:14]
04. Summertime Clothes[4:30]
05. Daily Routine[5:46]
06. Bluish[5:14]
07. Guy's Eyes[4:31]
08. Taste[3:53]
09. Lion In A Coma[4:12][LYRICS MISSING]
10. No More Runnin'[4:23]
11. Brothersport[5:59]
--------------------------------

Heima (Home) [2009!]..?

2009-01-01T19:30:00.001+05:30

H E I M A

Walking down on the foggy, frosted roads of desolation after a night of ecstasy, bewilderment, alienation, heartbreak and adrenaline where does one go to rest the destruction? Where is home? The alcohol within me leads me the wrong way. The flashing lights of the highway look promising, cars flying down, driven by the wasted, driving on the ice and crashing into the wasteland, the wreckage of a generation forgotten. I turn around reluctantly and head home, or at least where I think it is. I’ll take the shorter way. But the guardians are sleeping, the hounds wake up to my hurried movements and they have bigger teeth than me. The dogs are barking away from the highway as I try to scale the fence to get home, they sense what is inside me, an impure feeling of greed, something is not right within, and the street dogs have found it, they reject me with foaming mouths and ferocious growls. I choose flight. I’ll have to go all the way around, the longer way.
I could crash any moment. The pavements look inviting and the alleys call out to me. What is the chance that I will wake up in the morning if I collapse here? The ill-lit street is nearly deserted, I walk as fast as I can, there are a few people at odd corners, draped in a shawl and waiting. Waiting for god knows what at one-thirty in the morning. But there is an unmistakable look of expectation and hope in their eyes as they look suspiciously at me. Maybe I shouldn’t have left, I am on the edge of my conscious horizon and a few more minutes at the party would have thrown me over. But I want to stay on the edge, from the edge you can see so much more. I want to stand as close to the edge as I can without going over. Out on the edge you see all the kinds of things you can't see from the centre. Kurt Vonnegut said that. God rest his soul. A good night? Perhaps, if I could just leave my confused fucking problems and issues that make no sense to me but still pull me back into depression. A rotten start to the year nonetheless. There was a better start to the year last time and the year turned out to be rotten. This time a rotten start to a great year? I fucking hope so.

Dylan

2008-10-05T17:55:00.003+05:30

God said, "Let there be light, and there was Dylan".

So this is going to be my first post in a long, long time and since I cant be bothered to write something on a regular basis, I will be quoting Dylan lyrics everyday (hopefully everyday) and maybe my interpretation and what they mean to me.

So for today,

5th October, 2008.

"Ain't it just like the night to play tricks when you're tryin' to be so quiet?
We sit here stranded, though we're all doin' our best to deny it
And Louise holds a handful of rain, temptin' you to defy it"

-Song: Visions Of Johanna

Album: Blonde On Blonde

The picture on the top is the closest thing I could find on the internet that matched the imagery that manifests in my mind when I hear those lyrics. Visions Of Johanna is probably Bob's greatest song and some of the imagery that it sparks is just amazingly vibrant and celestial.

Love Minus Zero/No Limit

2008-05-20T12:58:00.003+05:30

iPod Answers

1. Put iPod on shuffle.
2. Use the song title as the answer to the question.
3. You must put that song name down. no matter how ridiculous it sounds
4. Add any comments in brackets

1. When someone asks 'is this okay', you say:
Everybody Needs Love-Slim Smith

2.What does the next year have in store for you?
Holiday-Green Day
(...NOT!!)

3.What does your love life look like?
The Rainbow-Apples In Stereo
(Hahaha...the iPod doesn't know very much)

4.How would you describe yourself?
Loyalty-D12
(I should hope so)

5.What is your life's purpose?
Stop Frontin'-KRS-One
(That's not a bad purpose)

6.What's your favourite saying?
If I had A Million Dollars-Eminem
(Wow...Bang on)

7.What do you look for in a girl?
Smooth Jazz Cafe-Ambient Basia & Spyro Gyra

8.What is your favourite place?
A Hard Day's Night-The Beatles
(Well not really...)

9.What do your friends think of you?
In The Aeroplane Over The Sea-Modest Mouse

10. What do you think of your friends?
Imagine-John Lennon

11. What do you think of the person you like?
Need Your Love So Bad-Fleetwood Mac

12. What do you think of your parents?
Things We Said Today-The Beatles

13.What do you think about very often?
Vertigo-U2
(Not really but it does scare me)

14. How do you feel today?
Monkey Man-Toots And The Maytals
(Feel like that everyday :p)

15. How will you die?
Get Higher-Black Grape
(Die while getting higher or get higher while dying?)

16. What is 2+2?
It Ain't Me, Babe-Bob Dylan
(Well that's a relief..)

17. What is your life story?
Spiritual Whp-Jah Lloyd
(Hmm...)

18. What will you dance to at your wedding?
Ms. Jackson-Outkast
(Haha)

19. What song will be played at your funeral?
Iron Lion Zion-Bob Marley
(I was hoping something for quainter...)

20. What is your main hobby?
You Can't Do That-The Beatles
(That's right...you can never do my hobby)

21. What is your biggest fear?
Strange Little Girl-Stealers Wheel
(Its true...I rather not talk about it...)

22.What is your biggest secret?
I'm Going Home-Ten Years After

23. What is your favourite saying?
A Little Bit Later On-Ella Fitzgerald
(Procrastination...)

24. Where would you go on a first date?
Remember(Walking In The Sand)-The Shangri-Las
(I'm confused...would we remember walking in the sand on the first date or actually walk on the sand?)

25.What do you say when life gets hard?
Everything In Its Right Place-Radiohead
(Well then why is getting so tough?)

26.What's the first thing you think of when you wake up in the morning?
St. Louis Blues-Louis Armstrong

27.What is your drug of choice?
In My Heart-Moby
(My blood is my drug)

28.What do you want to be when you grow up?
King Of New York-Fun Lovin' Criminals
(Wow...that would be nice)

29.What does the next year have in store for you?
O Green World-The Gorillaz
(Well I guess that spells doom for Global Warming)

30. What is your state of mind at the moment?
Come On(Let The Good Times Roll)-Jimi Hendrix
(Not really but okay..)

31. What kind of person are you?
Lebanese Blonde-Thievery Corporation
(Hmm...Hahaha..)

32. What are you going to do after this?
Come Fly With Me-Frank Sinatra
(Who doesn't love flying with Sinatra?)

33.What are you going to do tomorrow?
Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds-The Beatles
(I'm going to do Lucy in the sky with diamonds? HAHA)

34.Where do you think your life is taking you?
Where I'm From-The Game
(Back to where I belong, eh?)

35.What are you going to post this as?
Love Minus Zero/No Limit-Bob Dylan
(What a song..Hail Dylan)

Amir Khusrao

2008-04-19T20:47:00.003+05:30

Amir Khusrao was a great mystical sufi poet who was born in India in 1253 and lived until 1325. Here is his Wikipedia Page.

Here is a couplet of his that I particularly enjoy:

Khusrau darya prem ka, ulti wa ki dhaar,
Jo utra so doob gaya, jo dooba so paar.

TRANSLATION

Oh Khusrao, the river of love

Runs in strange directions.

One who jumps into it drowns,

And the one who drowns, gets across.

FREE TIBET

2008-03-27T17:14:00.002+05:30

A little poster like thing I made on photoshop. Free Tibet!

BOYCOTT BEIJING 2008.

Its not a game...

Smiling For No Reason

2008-03-27T13:56:00.003+05:30

Last night at around 1 AM, because of my irregular sleep patterns, I was wide awake once again when I should have been lost in the valley below. I put on some jazz and found some amount of calm. The playlist came then to "My Favourite Things" by John Coltrane and I found myself swaying and smiling for no reason. I picked up a pen and some stuff wrote itself off the waves. I'm not sure I even had any control, other than holding the pen. Coltrane's sax swayed my pen and etched a few random words. As the piece picked up pace I grew a bit too content, and as a result grew restless. I got up and did as many sit-ups I could and then push ups. Working out to John Coltrane, I'm not sure how many people do that...

The poem;

A peace reigns,
Undisturbed by the blood on the knife,
The rhythm of the fan blows till I notice it.

Before I know it, I'm swaying and smiling for no reason. I need to do this more often. If people can kill for no reason, why do we find it so hard to love for no reason?

Nothing At All

2008-03-03T21:46:00.005+05:30

There goes the world,
thinking of dirt,
below beyond lies the grave,
the grave of grief and sorrow,
of a life taken by half,
life's,
on a planet not ours,
with a power not theirs,
How long
long long people have,
gone without knowing,
Nothing at all
nothing at all
nothing at all.

Say it to me,
just so that I know its not true,
So that I know its not just me,
My knife says yes,
while my smile doesn't know and,
my heart doesn't tell,
the coffee speaks to me,
in enchanted somnambulistic waves of sweet rhymes
mixed with dark delight
'Oh man you've gone living,
too long knowing,
Nothing at all,
nothing at all,
nothing at all.

Its hard to believe,
that scars ever fade,
'What a queen' cry,
the damned peoples,
whose fathers were
buried with her shit,
now all I see are,
tattooed gangsters,
niggering the matrix,
of pop-culture and,
the white world,
culture thou hast lived,
too long knowing,
Nothing at all,
nothing at all,
nothing at all.

The slide has rusted,
the swing chain now pinches,
my fingers with the past,
and my smile slowly,
fades away as I chance,
upon my happy scar,
the one with the parallel fate,
I taste the gravel, the dust upon the sweet stones
O where has the earth gone?
crying out, I ask the birds,
who look at me with tired eyes,
they're saying,
"Oh man, we've flown too far,
saying,
Nothing at all,
nothing at all,
nothing at all."

Birds and beasts will,
taste the flowers,
but me and you are twisted,
in half-broken shards of plastic glass
riding on euphoric rides of rapid gravity
on pink ponies dressed with fancy lights
and polka dots,
that look at the sun and the moon,
and go round and round,
and round and round,
we go in cosmic circles till,
alas we meet our past,
and our legs find the empty feeling,
to kick the teeth out of the smile,
that destiny grins,
bitter-sweet numbers predict your end,
the mark on your face is bright, glowing,
Its hurt too long,
meaning
Nothing at all,
nothing at all,
nothing at all.

The fires awake from their green embers,
just to burn out and desert this damned land,
they're telling me,
"O man we don't know about you,
but we've burnt too long,
knowing Nothing at all."
©AtBp

Untitled

2008-02-15T21:35:00.002+05:30

People will find no solace,

In the virtues they possess,

The sin that lingers on,

Will kill dandelions like the storm,

No life to live,

No love to give,

The original sin, lingers on.

Untitled

2008-02-14T23:01:00.003+05:30

Shine with hedonism,

O beautiful love,

there is more to the eye,

than meets the world.

Fire is no substitute,

for food,

but it offers,

a way out for the deathly destitute.

Lyric Of The Day

2008-02-03T20:49:00.000+05:30

3rd February 2008.

"It's dreamy weather we're on
You waved your crooked wand,
Along an icy pond with a frozen moon,
A murder of sillhouette crows I saw,
And the tears on my face,
And the skates on the pond,
They spell Alice."

Song:Alice
Album:Alice
Artist:Tom Waits

Lyric Of The Day

2008-02-02T20:52:00.000+05:30

2nd February, 2008.

"One more cup of coffee for the road,
One more cup of coffee 'fore I go.
To the valley below".

Song:One More Cup Of Coffee
Album:Desire
Artist:Bob Dylan

Lyric Of The Day

2008-02-01T22:34:00.000+05:30

1st February, 2008.

"I'd change the world if I could change my mind..."

- Song: Union
Album:Monkey Business
Artists:The Black Eyed Peas ft. Sting

Heath Ledger As The Joker

2008-01-24T18:49:00.001+05:30

Heath Ledger died a day or so ago in Manhattan. Ledger was best known for his potrayal of a gay cowboy in the film Brokeback Mountain, but I feel in the coming years he will be best known for something the world has not seen as yet, i.e., his role of Joker in the upcoming film The Dark Knight which opens across theaters in the summer of 2008.

I have no doubt that this will be a great film, I loved Batman Begins and this one should be marvellous as well.

Heath Ledger

1979-2008

-RIP-

The Fire-House Of Blues

2008-01-24T11:13:00.000+05:30

This is going to be my first post of 2008.
..............

THE FIRE-HOUSE OF BLUES

23-24^th January, 2008.

The tears keep calling,

They’re building up on the other side,

Knocking my eyes out,

The curtains can’t block the light.

When one drop does fall, it lets out a deluge,

Through the crevice that it seeps from,

I see the fire house of blues,

I let myself out to dry but am interrupted by the yellow storm.

I walk through the banks of death,

The water too black to flow,

His body lies there stagnant; the only thing moving is the flame, from which he bled,

I turn away from the land of dearth; I feel a thousand hands,

Fire is no substitute for the high and hungry canine.

I look past the trench and find a flag that still finds reason to flutter,

The wind has forgotten, so have the birds,

The dogs that never knew are now waking up to the blur,

A fortress built by the wood, to protect the pantheon inside,

The woods protect as the flames destroy,

The resistance is now fast falling,

The fortress cracks and the deluge escapes from the crevice, a witness to the gore

I can’t see his face anymore,

I squint my eyes to catch a glimpse,

But beneath the destruction the giant has escaped,

To the land of the emerald sky and the sapphire fate,

Maybe one day we’ll all crash into the elements of hate.

The flames fly around, leaving their ember homes,

They kiss and burn all those who doubt their fire,

A river of grief runs in front of me,

A sea of men behind me,

Line up to plunge in the darkness,

One day I will have to take they dive and look at the devils feet.

There were five when I begun,

And now a billion more stare to the sun,

Their feet covered by tar,

Unable to move, their eyes long for the lone gun,

Fire and water, earth and sky.

Ether and life. Rock and Roll,

Reggae and blues, is now my home.

The blood stops at my chest,

Devoid of power, my face is white with spirits,

The hawks over head,

As the greatest element,

That of blood,

Turns to dust,

The colourless heart draped in a saffron gold,

With the green blood flowing through the lives that glowed.

It’s me, my god and my ghost from now on,

The skies of life don’t see seem too bleak to try,

The hawk blocking the sun will find reason to fly,

The sun seems stretched,

The moon seems flawed,

The sky seems close,

Even chickens try to fly,

The fear within me is whether there is a reason to try.

©AtBp

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

2008 beckons...

2007-12-31T11:25:00.000+05:30

The year is coming to an end...2008 beckons.

What better way to celebrate but Absolut?

The Most Potty: Lee Scratch Perry

2007-12-30T16:47:00.000+05:30

The greatest reggae and ska producer there ever has been. Lee "Scratch" Perry has worked with many of the top reggae artists like U Roy, Gregory Isaacs, Max Romeo, The Bleechers, his own band The Upsetters, The Mighty Diamonds and The Wailers. The Wailers no doubt being the most well known band in that list but certainly not the best. Lee Perry worked with a man called Robert Nesta Marley who would become one of the best known figures in world music.
I have managed to get two of Lee Perry's compilations and they are among my most prized possesions. All the tracks are very old with their artists either dead or forgotten to the world.

I can say with some certainty that music is full of shit these days. Hip-Hop is worth doodley squat in front of the great classics of the yesteryear.

Death Proof(2007)

2007-12-30T14:29:00.001+05:30

Death Proof(2007)

Directed by Quentin Tarantino

IMDb Rating: 7.5/10
HBMR Rating:6.0/10*

*In comparison to other films.
In comparison to Quentin Tarantino-3/10

A 6/10 isnt a bad rating. Its not mediocre either, its what I would call "an above average" rating for any film. But then again, Tarantino's film's aren't just any films. Tarantino's films have a knack for becoming cult classics and in comparison to his earlier work, Death Proof is way below average. Death Proof suffers from the Tarantino tag it bears and the high expectations it bears with that tag. I believe that if any one else had made this film, its reception would have been better. This is probably Quentin Tarantino's worst film to date and I really hope he doesn't do worse than this.

In Death Proof, QT has tried to replace the "Bad Mofo's" like Jules and Vincent with the badly contsructed feminine characters Abernathy (Rosario Dawson), Kim (Tracie Thoms) and Zoe (Zoe Bell). The problem is QT did not replace the dialogues. And needless to say this is the downfall of the film. Kim, who is a black woman says the words "nigger", "bitch" and "fuck" about 20 times in each sentence. Now I'm not pointing fingers to any racist sentiments in the mind of QT as has been done by critics before. Neither am I objecting to the foul language. What I am saying is that the "bitch", "nigga" and "fuck" don't come out half as well as they did from the lips of Samuel L. Jackson. Dialogue just does'nt transcend gender.It just doesn't. I dont want to sound chauvinistic but the girls are the problem. What the girls are saying is quite interesting, its just how they're saying it thats a bit pissing off. Whenever Kim or Zoe started to talk I pretty much put the TV on mute and read the subtitles. The other girls were'nt as bad but Kim and Zoe pretty much spoilt it for them. The character of Lee (Mary Elizabeth Winstead) was a waste and could easily have been exempted. It goes without saying that I enjoyed the first set of girls much more than this. Arlene (Vanessa Ferlito) and Jungle Julia(Sydney Poitier). Though even Jungle Julia had her foulmouthed moments.

Bluntly put, they were hotter and the lap dance did help. But jokes aside, I feel the film would have been much better without the two different sets of girls. If QT had just eliminated Abernathy and Co. and decided not to kill off Arlene and Co., this film would have been much better.
But I would also like to add that if you replaced the girls with the hard men of Hollywood, this film would not improve too much.

The chase sequence isn't that bad I have to say. That is if you cease all thinking and reasoning.
With Zoe strapped to the front, they go racing at a gazillion miles per hour. They find time to stop, to beat up Kurt Russell but dont find time to unbuckle the helpless Kiwi. QT, again, could have done better.

Kurt Russell obviously is the best part about this film. His character(Stuntman Mike) is extremely well rounded and while his serial-killer persona didn't keep me awake, his crying like a pussy certainly made me laugh. The only thing about his character is that he was underused by QT, his appearance is way too brief. Though when he does come in bits and parts, it is too rescue us from the monotonous dialogue of the inane twittering of the girls. And because he is so briefly cast in the film, KR is not reason enough to see this film.

In the end, I have to say with some sadness that my favourite director let me down this time. Its sad to say but QT's resume will not suffer if this project was exempted. Here's hoping that Inglorious Bastards (2009) will make up for this film. See this film if you have nothing else to do. Nothing.

-AtBp

Howlin' Wolf

2007-12-29T19:18:00.000+05:30

The name of this blog is inspired by the one, the only, the raspy Blues guitarist and singer Howlin' Wolf.

KPC

2007-12-29T17:22:00.000+05:30

Haha...a bit tough to read though (click on it and it becomes clearer).
Random humour

The Sir Richard Steele's

2007-12-28T19:27:00.000+05:30

The pub in North London, Steeles in May 2007.

Conjunctivitis Craze by Me

2007-12-28T19:23:00.000+05:30

Something random and dumb done by me on paint on the computer...I like the pink eye.

2BR02B By Kurt Vonnegut Jr.

2007-12-28T19:18:00.000+05:30

Got a problem? Just pick up the phone. It solved them all—and all the same way!

2
B

by KURT VONNEGUT, JR.

Everything was perfectly swell.

There were no prisons, no slums, no insane asylums, no cripples, no poverty, no wars.

All diseases were conquered. So was old age.

Death, barring accidents, was an adventure for volunteers.

The population of the United States was stabilized at forty-million souls.

One bright morning in the Chicago Lying-in Hospital, a man named Edward K. Wehling, Jr., waited for his wife to give birth. He was the only man waiting. Not many people were born a day any more.

Wehling was fifty-six, a mere stripling in a population whose average age was one hundred and twenty-nine.

X-rays had revealed that his wife was going to have triplets. The children would be his first.

Young Wehling was hunched in his chair, his head in his hand. He was so rumpled, so still and colorless as to be virtually invisible. His camouflage was perfect, since the waiting room had a disorderly and demoralized air, too. Chairs and ashtrays had been moved away from the walls. The floor was paved with spattered dropcloths.

The room was being redecorated. It was being redecorated as a memorial to a man who had volunteered to die.

A sardonic old man, about two hundred years old, sat on a stepladder, painting a mural he did not like. Back in the days when people aged visibly, his age would have been guessed at thirty-five or so. Aging had touched him that much before the cure for aging was found.

The mural he was working on depicted a very neat garden. Men and women in white, doctors and nurses, turned the soil, planted seedlings, sprayed bugs, spread fertilizer.

Men and women in purple uniforms pulled up weeds, cut down plants that were old and sickly, raked leaves, carried refuse to trash-burners.

Never, never, never—not even in medieval Holland nor old Japan—had a garden been more formal, been better tended. Every plant had all the loam, light, water, air and nourishment it could use.

A hospital orderly came down the corridor, singing under his breath a popular song:

If you don't like my kisses, honey,
Here's what I will do:
I'll go see a girl in purple,
Kiss this sad world toodle-oo.
If you don't want my lovin',
Why should I take up all this space?
I'll get off this old planet,
Let some sweet baby have my place.

The orderly looked in at the mural and the muralist. "Looks so real," he said, "I can practically imagine I'm standing in the middle of it."

"What makes you think you're not in it?" said the painter. He gave a satiric smile. "It's called 'The Happy Garden of Life,' you know."

"That's good of Dr. Hitz," said the orderly.

He was referring to one of the male figures in white, whose head was a portrait of Dr. Benjamin Hitz, the hospital's Chief Obstetrician. Hitz was a blindingly handsome man.

"Lot of faces still to fill in," said the orderly. He meant that the faces of many of the figures in the mural were still blank. All blanks were to be filled with portraits of important people on either the hospital staff or from the Chicago Office of the Federal Bureau of Termination.

"Must be nice to be able to make pictures that look like something," said the orderly.

The painter's face curdled with scorn. "You think I'm proud of this daub?" he said. "You think this is my idea of what life really looks like?"

"What's your idea of what life looks like?" said the orderly.

The painter gestured at a foul dropcloth. "There's a good picture of it," he said. "Frame that, and you'll have a picture a damn sight more honest than this one."

"You're a gloomy old duck, aren't you?" said the orderly.

"Is that a crime?" said the painter.

The orderly shrugged. "If you don't like it here, Grandpa—" he said, and he finished the thought with the trick telephone number that people who didn't want to live any more were supposed to call. The zero in the telephone number he pronounced "naught."

The number was: "2 B R 0 2 B."

It was the telephone number of an institution whose fanciful sobriquets included: "Automat," "Birdland," "Cannery," "Catbox," "De-louser," "Easy-go," "Good-by, Mother," "Happy Hooligan," "Kiss-me-quick," "Lucky Pierre," "Sheepdip," "Waring Blendor," "Weep-no-more" and "Why Worry?"

"To be or not to be" was the telephone number of the municipal gas chambers of the Federal Bureau of Termination.

The painter thumbed his nose at the orderly. "When I decide it's time to go," he said, "it won't be at the Sheepdip."

"A do-it-yourselfer, eh?" said the orderly. "Messy business, Grandpa. Why don't you have a little consideration for the people who have to clean up after you?"

The painter expressed with an obscenity his lack of concern for the tribulations of his survivors. "The world could do with a good deal more mess, if you ask me," he said.

The orderly laughed and moved on.

Wehling, the waiting father, mumbled something without raising his head. And then he fell silent again.

A coarse, formidable woman strode into the waiting room on spike heels. Her shoes, stockings, trench coat, bag and overseas cap were all purple, the purple the painter called "the color of grapes on Judgment Day."

The medallion on her purple musette bag was the seal of the Service Division of the Federal Bureau of Termination, an eagle perched on a turnstile.

The woman had a lot of facial hair—an unmistakable mustache, in fact. A curious thing about gas-chamber hostesses was that, no matter how lovely and feminine they were when recruited, they all sprouted mustaches within five years or so.

"Is this where I'm supposed to come?" she said to the painter.

"A lot would depend on what your business was," he said. "You aren't about to have a baby, are you?"

"They told me I was supposed to pose for some picture," she said. "My name's Leora Duncan." She waited.

"And you dunk people," he said.

"What?" she said.

"Skip it," he said.

"That sure is a beautiful picture," she said. "Looks just like heaven or something."

"Or something," said the painter. He took a list of names from his smock pocket. "Duncan, Duncan, Duncan," he said, scanning the list. "Yes—here you are. You're entitled to be immortalized. See any faceless body here you'd like me to stick your head on? We've got a few choice ones left."

She studied the mural bleakly. "Gee," she said, "they're all the same to me. I don't know anything about art."

"A body's a body, eh?" he said, "All righty. As a master of fine art, I recommend this body here." He indicated a faceless figure of a woman who was carrying dried stalks to a trash-burner.

"Well," said Leora Duncan, "that's more the disposal people, isn't it? I mean, I'm in service. I don't do any disposing."

The painter clapped his hands in mock delight. "You say you don't know anything about art, and then you prove in the next breath that you know more about it than I do! Of course the sheave-carrier is wrong for a hostess! A snipper, a pruner—that's more your line." He pointed to a figure in purple who was sawing a dead branch from an apple tree. "How about her?" he said. "You like her at all?"

"Gosh—" she said, and she blushed and became humble—"that—that puts me right next to Dr. Hitz."

"That upsets you?" he said.

"Good gravy, no!" she said. "It's—it's just such an honor."

"Ah, You admire him, eh?" he said.

"Who doesn't admire him?" she said, worshiping the portrait of Hitz. It was the portrait of a tanned, white-haired, omnipotent Zeus, two hundred and forty years old. "Who doesn't admire him?" she said again. "He was responsible for setting up the very first gas chamber in Chicago."

"Nothing would please me more," said the painter, "than to put you next to him for all time. Sawing off a limb—that strikes you as appropriate?"

"That is kind of like what I do," she said. She was demure about what she did. What she did was make people comfortable while she killed them.

And, while Leora Duncan was posing for her portrait, into the waitingroom bounded Dr. Hitz himself. He was seven feet tall, and he boomed with importance, accomplishments, and the joy of living.

"Well, Miss Duncan! Miss Duncan!" he said, and he made a joke. "What are you doing here?" he said. "This isn't where the people leave. This is where they come in!"

"We're going to be in the same picture together," she said shyly.

"Good!" said Dr. Hitz heartily. "And, say, isn't that some picture?"

"I sure am honored to be in it with you," she said.

"Let me tell you," he said, "I'm honored to be in it with you. Without women like you, this wonderful world we've got wouldn't be possible."

He saluted her and moved toward the door that led to the delivery rooms. "Guess what was just born," he said.

"I can't," she said.

"Triplets!" he said.

"Triplets!" she said. She was exclaiming over the legal implications of triplets.

The law said that no newborn child could survive unless the parents of the child could find someone who would volunteer to die. Triplets, if they were all to live, called for three volunteers.

"Do the parents have three volunteers?" said Leora Duncan.

"Last I heard," said Dr. Hitz, "they had one, and were trying to scrape another two up."

"I don't think they made it," she said. "Nobody made three appointments with us. Nothing but singles going through today, unless somebody called in after I left. What's the name?"

"Wehling," said the waiting father, sitting up, red-eyed and frowzy. "Edward K. Wehling, Jr., is the name of the happy father-to-be."

He raised his right hand, looked at a spot on the wall, gave a hoarsely wretched chuckle. "Present," he said.

"Oh, Mr. Wehling," said Dr. Hitz, "I didn't see you."

"The invisible man," said Wehling.

"They just phoned me that your triplets have been born," said Dr. Hitz. "They're all fine, and so is the mother. I'm on my way in to see them now."

"Hooray," said Wehling emptily.

"You don't sound very happy," said Dr. Hitz.

"What man in my shoes wouldn't be happy?" said Wehling. He gestured with his hands to symbolize care-free simplicity. "All I have to do is pick out which one of the triplets is going to live, then deliver my maternal grandfather to the Happy Hooligan, and come back here with a receipt."

Dr. Hitz became rather severe with Wehling, towered over him. "You don't believe in population control, Mr. Wehling?" he said.

"I think it's perfectly keen," said Wehling tautly.

"Would you like to go back to the good old days, when the population of the Earth was twenty billion—about to become forty billion, then eighty billion, then one hundred and sixty billion? Do you know what a drupelet is, Mr. Wehling?" said Hitz.

"Nope," said Wehling sulkily.

"A drupelet, Mr. Wehling, is one of the little knobs, one of the little pulpy grains of a blackberry," said Dr. Hitz. "Without population control, human beings would now be packed on this surface of this old planet like drupelets on a blackberry! Think of it!"

Wehling continued to stare at the same spot on the wall.

"In the year 2000," said Dr. Hitz, "before scientists stepped in and laid down the law, there wasn't even enough drinking water to go around, and nothing to eat but sea-weed—and still people insisted on their right to reproduce like jackrabbits. And their right, if possible, to live forever."

"I want those kids," said Wehling quietly. "I want all three of them."

"Of course you do," said Dr. Hitz. "That's only human."

"I don't want my grandfather to die, either," said Wehling.

"Nobody's really happy about taking a close relative to the Catbox," said Dr. Hitz gently, sympathetically.

"I wish people wouldn't call it that," said Leora Duncan.

"What?" said Dr. Hitz.

"I wish people wouldn't call it 'the Catbox,' and things like that," she said. "It gives people the wrong impression."

"You're absolutely right," said Dr. Hitz. "Forgive me." He corrected himself, gave the municipal gas chambers their official title, a title no one ever used in conversation. "I should have said, 'Ethical Suicide Studios,'" he said.

"That sounds so much better," said Leora Duncan.

"This child of yours—whichever one you decide to keep, Mr. Wehling," said Dr. Hitz. "He or she is going to live on a happy, roomy, clean, rich planet, thanks to population control. In a garden like that mural there." He shook his head. "Two centuries ago, when I was a young man, it was a hell that nobody thought could last another twenty years. Now centuries of peace and plenty stretch before us as far as the imagination cares to travel."

He smiled luminously.

The smile faded as he saw that Wehling had just drawn a revolver.

Wehling shot Dr. Hitz dead. "There's room for one—a great big one," he said.

And then he shot Leora Duncan. "It's only death," he said to her as she fell. "There! Room for two."

And then he shot himself, making room for all three of his children.

Nobody came running. Nobody, seemingly, heard the shots.

The painter sat on the top of his stepladder, looking down reflectively on the sorry scene.

The painter pondered the mournful puzzle of life demanding to be born and, once born, demanding to be fruitful ... to multiply and to live as long as possible—to do all that on a very small planet that would have to last forever.

All the answers that the painter could think of were grim. Even grimmer, surely, than a Catbox, a Happy Hooligan, an Easy Go. He thought of war. He thought of plague. He thought of starvation.

He knew that he would never paint again. He let his paintbrush fall to the drop-cloths below. And then he decided he had had about enough of life in the Happy Garden of Life, too, and he came slowly down from the ladder.

He took Wehling's pistol, really intending to shoot himself.

But he didn't have the nerve.

And then he saw the telephone booth in the corner of the room. He went to it, dialed the well-remembered number: "2 B R 0 2 B."

"Federal Bureau of Termination," said the very warm voice of a hostess.

"How soon could I get an appointment?" he asked, speaking very carefully.

"We could probably fit you in late this afternoon, sir," she said. "It might even be earlier, if we get a cancellation."

"All right," said the painter, "fit me in, if you please." And he gave her his name, spelling it out.

"Thank you, sir," said the hostess. "Your city thanks you; your country thanks you; your planet thanks you. But the deepest thanks of all is from future generations."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

2008

2007-12-28T17:30:00.000+05:30

Why is everyone waiting for the New Year so bad?
This year wasnt soo bad, I kind of liked it.

But this happens every year, the only thing people look forward to after seven-eight months of the year are over is December 31st. Its like they are hoping for some sort of kick in the ass from god that will wake them from their slumber. The New Year doesn't deserve any new celebrations if you ask me. We just draw one year closer to our deaths. I think people feel that all their troubles are going to disappear with 2007, just like they had hoped would happen with 2006. But the fact of the matter is that everything will still be on the table the next morning on the great day of the 1st of January 2008. For better or worse. Your bills will need to be paid, you'll have to talk to your parents, you'll find out what the vodka did the night before, the exams will come, your children will grow up, you will grow up and the new year will also end.

But I guess we just need a reason to party, we all do and what better reason the party to than a celebration of false hope?

Choose Life

2007-12-28T17:11:00.000+05:30

“Choose Life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a fucking big television; choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players and electrical tin openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol, and dental insurance. Choose fixed interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose leisurewear and matching luggage. Choose a three-piece suite on hire purchase in a range of fucking fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who the fuck you are on Sunday night. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing fucking junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pissing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked up brats you spawned to replace yourselves. Choose your future. Choose life... But why would I want to do a thing like that? I chose not to choose life. I chose somethin' else. And the reasons? There are no reasons. Who needs reasons when you've got heroin?”

I don't do heroin, there are reasons.

Movies To Watch

2007-12-27T10:58:00.000+05:30

Great films have been made over the years and I do not think its humanly possible to make a best 250 list or anything. But we all do love lists. So here's a list of 10 movies that i thought were good enough to spend time on. These are just 10 random movies I like and they are in no particular order. This isn't a list of great achievements in filmmaking, these are movies I like and for no definite reasons. I'll try coming up with lists like these often.

1. Life Is Beautiful(1997)

2.Fight Club(1999)

3.The Seven Samurai(1954)

4.Good Bye Lenin!(2003)

5.Eternal Sunshine Of The Spotless Mind(2004)

6.The Lion King(1994)

7.Memento(2000)

8.American History X(1998)

9.Snatch(2000)

10. The Green Mile(1999)

Warhol Montage

2007-12-27T10:46:00.001+05:30

A montage on the term "Warhol" on Google images.

For more information: Montage-a-Google

Nietszche

2007-12-26T17:21:00.000+05:30

A casual stroll through any street in the world shows that faith does not prove anything.

Music

2007-12-24T18:17:00.000+05:30

An essay on music by me

"Music has magical powers and affects everyone in identical ways"

Discuss and analyse the merits of this statement.

"They say music can alter moods and talk to you,

Well can it load a gun up for you, and cock it too?"

-Eminem

The instructions read "Discuss and analyse the merits of this statement". I shall be discussing the demerits of this statement as I find it false.

I shall first elaborate my point of view on the statement.

I feel this statement superficially defines music and portrays it as a two-dimensional entity while we all know that music is a three dimensional entity and that it is far too profound to be described in words. Music may be magical at times, but at times it is quite the opposite. This part of the statement can still be defended but the next segment is what I find outrageous.

Music does not affect everyone in "identical ways". For this too happen, our individuality of musical choice and basic individuality of mind would have to be stripped. The mathematical and scientific term for our cognatic state would be known as "a constant". Just like in a mathematical problem, a constant remains unchanged; our minds would be the same and our thinking process identical.

Even this does not ensure the "identical" effect of music as, if our minds are the constant, music is then the variable and there are thousands of forms of music that address different issues and thereby affect different people differently.

The effect of music not only depends on the listener but also depends on the cultural context of the listener. It depends on the political set up the individual belongs to, his religion, his intellect.

For example a Bob Marley song entitled "Get Up, Stand Up", which talks mainly about liberation and standing up for your rights will have different effects on a sixteen year old in Pakistan, a dictatorship and a sixteen year old in India, a democracy. Assuming that these two adolescents are Reggae and Bob Marley fans and enjoy this type of music. Though the youth in India will feel somewhat roused by it, he will feel helpless like a rebel without a cause; the youth in Pakistan will almost feel the adrenaline pumping through his veins.

A new study about music has progressed over the years and has developed a name, Ethnomusicology. Ethnomusicology is the study of music in its cultural context. Wikipedia calls it the anthropology or ethnography of music.

I shall now discuss the first part of the statement in detail; it deals with the "magical powers" of music. Let me add here that what “magical” here implies is only the ethereality of magic and the “dark side” of magic is not taken into account. This is because I do not feel the topic implies black magic, it is the simplistic definition of magic that a 7 year old would think of. So therefore I shall refute this statement by refuting music’s “magical” powers.

I agree that music possess magical powers that relax, heal and stimulate the mind at the same time. We all have become aware of the Mozart Effect, which is a scientific study that claims that classical music stimulates brain activity positively more than any other form of music. Though it will be wrong and almost criminal of us to give so much credit to music as a whole as to call it "magical". Certain forms of music have been known to blind people and fuel hate inside their minds. Gangsta Rap and Death Metal are two forms of this immoral and damnable form of music. Gangsta Rap is also used in the brainwashing of child-soldiers in Africa. This fact was communicated and shown to the masses with an English film called "Blood Diamond" that released in 2006. With its strong lyrics and the oozing violence, it has a number of detrimental effects on not only a child but anybody.

Gangsta Rap ever since it developed in the United States in the 1980's has been a centre of controversy. It has been accused of foul themes such as extreme violence, drugs, the darkest form of misogynism, sexual promiscuity, homophobia and maximal profanity. Nearly all of the artists in this genre when it first started were of the African-American community and were nearly always belonging to the streets. This is how John H. McWhorter, in his article 'How Hip-Hop Holds Blacks Back' writing for the City Journal in the summer of 2003 put it,

"…that ghetto life is so hopeless that an explosion of violence is both justified and imminent—would become a hip-hop mantra in the years ahead."

Soon Gangsta Rap broke out of the "black" tag it bore and people of all colours started identifying with it, and now there are more white customers in the U.S.A. of Rap than Black, Gangsta Rap brainwashes like no other genre of music, I feel that Gangsta Rap has brainwashed and killed the intellect of a whole generation of American children. Those who didn't identify with it are the ones that got out alive. Not only is Gangsta Rap leading to the downfall of American children, with the tide of globalisation spreading, youth all over the world have been exposed to this attractive looking lifestyle. In the early and mid 20th century they had War Propaganda being spread viciously in every country, Russia, U.S.A., Germany, Britain, France etc., this century's equivalent of War Propaganda is probably the misleading of the youth, and one of the elements is Gangsta Rap.

Death Metal which at first glance seems much more detrimental than Gangsta Rap as it involves the far blacker themes of Satanism and other obscurities is less harmful. A form of Death Metal called Blackened Death Metal is a genre of music which is the lowest form of music possible includes the themes of dismemberment, Satanism, Neo-Nazism, Nihilism (which is prominent in Gangsta Rap as well) and some other rather graphic ones.

The only reason Death Metal is not as harmful as Gangsta Rap is that it does not have a large enough audience to maim, only very few deranged, damned human beings have found it to suit their taste.

Different types of music have different effects and not all are magical. Music is one medium that has become immensely popular among the youth of the world and this is not entirely healthy. I have said before that I feel music has become a new sort of propaganda around the world as the youth brainwashed by blatant consumerism have indulged in this material lifestyle without knowing the adverse effects of it.

The second segment of the statement which states the "identical" effect of music is extremely wrong and this is because of the simple reason that the conditions of the individual that the music acts upon are never the same for even two people.

Music acts on two levels, external and personal. The external plane includes history, political framework, society and economy. This means that the persons history as well as the history of his region comes in the picture along with, the political system in which he lives in, his position in the local or national society and its traditions and the state of the economy of the state (no pun intended).

The personal plane includes his likes and dislikes, the facets of his disposition, his own life history, his experiences, his religious beliefs etc.

Another extremely important factor is that is the mood and state of mind of the listener at the time.

Music can charge us, it calms us, and it will wake us up if we wish to be woken from our oblivious state. Music does to us whatever we let it do. I feel music is like a liquid; it takes any shape you want it to take and is free-flowing.

The Mod Acrostic By G.M. Davis

2007-12-24T18:02:00.000+05:30

Should art be autotelic, or for use?
Only for pleasure; all else would be abuse.
Can it not point us to the wise and good?
Rarely--and there's no reason why it should.
An artist, then, may lack a moral sense?
Too true--and there's an alp of evidence.
Is Matthew Arnold not a guiding light?
Call him instead a kind of Prozac-lite.
Must culture only be panacea?
Ethics are the tastes of the yesteryear.
Then appetitites are all you recognize?
Hedonic jouissance is what I prize.
Oh, is there nothing that can lift your soul?
Decidedly: sex, drugs and rock 'n' roll.

Personalities and Noisy Dogs

2007-06-24T12:57:00.000+05:30

Just like Kilgore trout, Kurt Vonnegut's alter ego once(while both were alive) dictated to him all his thoughts, ideas and other forms of dust from the top of his head, my alter ego named Troyna Presario who is about 70 years older than I am and therefore imagines himself to be much wiser and smarter than me also keeps finding it important to give me all his crap. I am grateful to the crap I am given, always have been. Troyna Presario, a devout atheist only refers to God when it is to derogatorize him/her or to bring his/her divine pedestal lower than it has been brought by time's so called religious men. He once told me at the age of 80 something, I must have been a teenager, that, "I think I should live to a 100 at least, if not, then there is a racist god up there." He said with a smile, quite happy with his joke. Troyna Presario is a man who was born and brought up in Bangladesh, which was then part of the British Empire of India. He has a white passport now.

Last night when I went to sleep in an unfamiliar bedroom there were noisy dogs outside. I wanted them killed last night. Today morning in the light of the sun I saw the same dogs, tired from their late night escapades fast asleep under cars and drains. I dont want them killed anymore but I wish they will not come around tonight again to remind of the absence of my nightmares and with it the disappearance of my sleep.

Great Surreal Art

2007-06-23T21:18:00.000+05:30

The Persistence Of Memory-Salvador Dali

2007-06-23T20:48:00.001+05:30

Slaughterhouse-Five

2007-06-23T20:30:00.001+05:30

Slaughterhouse-Five or The Children's Crusade, a Dirty Dance With Death is my favourite book. A magazine summed up the book and Vonnegut's uncanny writing style by saying, "Our finest black humourist....we laugh in self-defense." Another on called Vonnegut " a laughing prophet of doom". For me Vonnegut is the greatest author the 20th century has produced( I was going to say time immemorial but that would get a bit too much, though i do think he his the best ever). When I laugh in his books, two seconds later I am introspecting whether it was right to laugh at dead corpses or other gruesome details that Vonnegut satires so amazingly. He makes us think about or own thoughts. He died only a week after I read Slaughterhouse-Five so that was a loss everyone in the literary world felt equally i guess. I am now going to publish an extract from Slaughterhouse-Five. It is a conversation between Billy Pilgrim and a Tralfamadorian.

"Where am I?" said Billy Pilgrim

"Trapped in another blob of amber, Mr. Pilgrim. We are where we have to be just now-three hundred million miles from Earth, bound for a time warp which will get us to Tralfamadore in hours rather than centuries."

"How-how did I get here?"

"It would take another Earthling to explain it to you. Earthlings are great explainers, explaining why the event is structured as it is, tell how other events may be achieved or avoided. I am a Tralfamadorian, seeing all time as you might see a stretch of the Rocky Mountains. All time is all time. It does not change. It does not lend itself to warnings or explanations. It simply is. Take it moment by moment, and you will find that we are all, as I've said before, bugs in amber."
"You sound to me as though you don't believe in free will," said Billy Pilgrim

"If I hadn't spent so much time studying Earthlings," said the Tralfamadorian, "I wouldn't have any idea what was meant by 'free will'. I've visited thirty-one inhabited planets in the universe, and I have studied reports on one hundred more. Only on Earth is there any talk of free will."

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Its the work of a genius...

Hello

2007-06-23T19:58:00.000+05:30

Hello friends my name is Troyna Prezario and I am the owner of this fantastically dull blog...My hobbies/interests in life are football, music, art, film, photography, celluloid and books. I live in a mystical land full of opportunities, dreams, ideas and vibrant art. It doesn't matter if the opportunities come at other peoples expenses, if one man's dream is bringing another man's nightmare to life, if the ideas are leading to self-destructing black hole or if the last piece of vibrant art that was created was when dust was created(which i presume was a long time ago). So welcome to my blog, I am Troyna Prezario and if you don't like it here then why don't you go back to where you came from? TrPr