Fish sex.

69, the famed oral course position, according to me is a favorite amongst Piceans.

let 69 = image

flip image at a 90 degree to the either side - whichever side you may.
What do you see?

Label me insane, but i think i just discovered something.

pseudogamy

Psychobabble trash-talk
& paranormal promises.
Ground nuts that smell like sunflowers
on a daisygloom morning.

Whiffs of camphor
cats, dogs & toads.
Black label bottles-
creativity in my stylus.

Orgasm shreds on a
90D micro cube
that wails like a baby
of doom.

Licks of thunder, tears from heaven.
Prayers of cleansing
darkness of its void.
Unicycling, high wire walking.
the stereotype indian rope trick
It's a circus!

Londonner rasputins

carnivalesque vermillion spreads.

societies of pornography,
photographs of grass.
tears streaming puss
render vision void
and thought loose.

DRAUGHT BEER

Rise
to the wave of mediocrity
Slay
slaves of excellence

Broken dreams
Not broken bones.
resultants of apex brawls
amongst brains that claim
superiority.

Being a calf

Buzzing cubes spewing hot air fit tightly in their windows. I often wonder what joy they find in acquiring more of these cubes with each passing year. I mean… what purpose could they possibly serve anyway, with the summers getting warmer every time the season hits us?

Then they like to be jailed. Fascinating! They construct the tallest of walls around their manicured residences and revel in their shadows. Very rarely do they venture out – and when they do – they zip out in these moaning boxes – which incidentally, also disgorge hot air!

Mum always warned me about the big ones – the big boxes roar and stop for no one – like dad when he’s in a fit of rage, mowing down anyone and everything that comes in the way. I guess I should’ve followed what she told me, because this pungence (in full colour) that has been dripping from my hip doesn’t really make me look as pretty.

Unreal Tournament

Stump pinks flutter.

Spiral tail’d,

Squeals of Pork echo.

The game thrown open,

gunshots and ricochets,

bursts of blood and rain.

The pinks flutter,

descend in a gyre.

Pigeons unleashed,

Salivating- they rocket

To where the gyre

ends in a thud.

-Cooing, they retrieve.

“Meat!” the decadent gamers cry.

It’s a take away.

Their wives howl back at home,

at wolves that wait patiently

For the gamers’

colonial return.

Korean Guerilla

I finally went and saw Dark knight yesterday. Awesome movie. Joker's character was superb and Heath carried it through, with a peircing performance. Ive always been intrigued by all of Batman's villains. All, from Penguin to the riddler to joker... but this post isn't really about the movie. Its about what i noticed in the movie hall.

I went to one of the PVRs here in Gurgaon and while waiting for the auditorium to open, I decided to buy myself some pop corn and soda to kill time...which is when i noticed something really interesting. On either side of the candy shop, there were Plasma TVs installed in sets of four - screening trailers of movies that were soon to be released. Now, 3 of these 4 plasmas on each side were of Samsung brand and one was of Lucky Goldstar - otherwise, popularly known as LG.
The LG plasmas on both the sides, had distinctively poorer visual clarity than the Samsungs they were right next to.

Of course this was a set up!
Samsung wins!

Encash, not bash the male.

The very cocky headline aside, I have a confession to make, a few questions to ask and a few suggestions to add to all the hullabaloo.

When I was at college, final year – I took up women’s writing as a subject just because the alternative (Literary Theory) just sounded too difficult to crack. I chose the subject without knowing what I was really getting into – not that I regret it now, 2 years down. I’m rather happy of the intelligent choice I made, unconsciously so and the way it has shaped me as an individual.

I was the only guy in class to have chosen the subject, probably because I had absolutely no hang ups/ was confident about my sexuality- at least that’s what I claimed back then.

(Before you gawk - I’m straight). In a class of around 40 people there were only 9 of us who took up feminism. The guys stated that they were too macho to study, analyse and critique frilly write ups (this is how they imagined the subject to be – wrongly so. It was only through me that they later learned that feminist literature was much more harsher and violent than the Greek wars they read and romanticized about in class) and the girls… well they had no excuse. They just did as the society had molded them to do, over the years. All that it would have taken for them to counter society and the patriarchy that is so prevalent in it was to have taken up the course. Well this was the reason of their choice, for most of the girls – exception claimers aside.

My girlfriend being a staunch feminist herself, attracts a lot of stink eyes from people when they learn of her stand on gender dynamics…and later, when they learn that even I am on the same side as hers… they are suddenly more tolerant. Ridiculous, how people function!

Like just the other day, when a servicing guy in my office was bitching about an art chick he thought had too much attitude for her size said “…and I think she’s a feminist too! By God! Shit!”… Now what the fuck is that supposed to mean???

The saxay boy shut the fuck up when I told him that I was one too, and that I didn't understand what the big deal was about being one.

I remember once in my feminism class back at college, when a lecturer of mine recalled her thoughts from when she was expecting her 1^st baby - “I wish I have a daughter. Then I could raise her to be a feminist”

This comment of hers left me confused…

See, with patriarchy having to do with male domination and the acceptance of it by even women – would it not be intelligent of us to breed more male feminists than to breed more and more female ones? The society functions – like it or not – as men do or say… so why not have men preach feminism?? Its not that hard to have men on your team you know…Coz we are gullible as fuck. You just need to hit the right spot. Give us a Grear with visuals or an even more modernistic version of the same to flip through. Or even better, (sexist as it may sound) have a pretty looking chick read it out to us! So, my point basically being, that rather than bashing males so generically, one should try and get them to join the revolution instead!

I’m going to end this stream of consciousness right here because some lousy copy driven work just came in …

And just for the record, this post was triggered by the comments I read on a blog that I came across today. This blog was by a chica who shares the same nickname or maybe her actual name with Gunj, and may I add – even looks like her!! Ironical as the situation may be, she’s a feminist too. Of course, the Gunj I know is going to slaughter me for this. She thinks that this new Gunj is an impostor! Also, Tenzin shall be slayed ( who is a pseudo anti feminist – someone ask him why), for introducing me to Gunj’s blog. The new Gunj’s blog… not the one we know. Okay this is confusing.

Also, I need to buy shorts. I had too much of the red bull that the promotion cuties gave me for free at work today – which is making me piss like a monkey. I still haven’t watched dark knight – I’ve to go as soon as I find someone who hasn’t watched it, provided we get tickets. The London International award’s and The Goa fest’s call for entries posters are staring at me. I am random.

Killer Queen

If I had a choice I’d vote “Mr. Fahrenheit” for president. Even though now, that he’s dead. The man’s vocal skills have continued to amaze me since I was still wetting my cotton nappies (in my days, diapers were a luxury available only to either the supra rich crawlers or ones who had their fat bottom’d- frequent flier aunties visiting from the UK) Anyway, him being as gay as a daffodil and the fact that Freddie didn’t like to be reminded of his connection with India aside, the man is ( as I reiterate) a wonder, a master composer, songwriter, singer and performer. Note that I use the word is and not was… for the man has brought generations after another to tap their feet, bob their heads and swing to his tunes. – Cliché as it may sound; he still does, 17 years after he sung his last song.

RIP

Earplugs

An idea just whizzed past my mind. I’m trying hard to avert all its efforts to whizz any further.

It’s trying to run, run into that area in my brain, of which I have a limited access to. Its almost like it knows of this, like it’s conspired to tax me.

I close my eyes.

I purse my lips.

I clench my fists

I concentrate

and try desperately to pull it to a place in my head, from where I can see it clearly. But that bastard of an idea is a tough player. It runs farther away.

It sits beside me at the coffee shop.It laughs as it sees me reading Asimov while I try to figure out what the fuck a Compendium Trans-functioner is.

It rides a hexagon’s edge, jumps off it and slides across a table. I don’t know what significance the hexagon or that sun mica top table hold in my memory – but it rode and it slid.

Sharp, shiny daggers fling into the nothingness on my left. This, while I hold a dartboard in my right hand.

Water. Under its surface, then on it.

Tea, iced. 3 bucks. D-school. Dante’s Inferno. Sighs, laughs, conversations that lead to nowhere.

Connaught Place. I stand in awe, gazing at its architecture marvelous.

And then… just then … as I lose myself to this beauty in all white, the fucker just vaporises- the idea. In fact I can’t even remember what the idea was about anymore, or what triggered it for that matter.

Fuck.Usually, I’d try again. But this loud, sadistic toned blunt Bangla that keeps pounding on my eardrums just won’t let me.

News

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Yes it is.
and I'm Happy

Gurgaon

What’s with your hair? Why is it so straight? Why the fuck do you flick it so often? Why are your teeth so white? How come your nails are so clean? Why are your lips drippin’ gloss? Are those boobs pumped? ... and that ass?

What’s with the big mobile phone? Why does it ring so often? Aren’t you a management trainee?... Yet you drive a BMW?

What’s with you woman?! What’s with your pink ear rings? What’s with the high heels -everyday? What’s with the unfinished beer? What’s with the two nibble dinner?

Why can’t you bear the heat? Aren’t you from around here? Why do you still talk of the vacation you had in the US eight years back? Why do you listen to hip hop? Can you recite what they rap?

Why do you hate the jaat? Why do you hate his language? Why do you have an accent?

…And what the fuck are you wearing that fruity perfume for lady - It all makes me want to throw up!!!

(- to be continued)

The Grand

The charred butts came to life as I pulled the lever. The gush was crystal clear – only froth, I could see. The corpses seemed to enjoy their swirl in the bowl though. This, while I stood looking down at the action, amused at how they allowed themselves to be manipulated by this force.

Calm spelled the glazed room, just as the bowl gurgled, swallowing all, spurting fine drops onto its rim. And then it suddenly struck me. It made me turn around and look at myself in the mirror – my nostrils flaring. I had never smelled anything like it before. While what remained of my Davidoffs bobbed their way through the capital’s sewers, they left behind an aroma, which now blended with that of the naphthalene, probably stacked in some corner. I inhaled ever so deeply. It was crisp, the smell – very masculine, and I swear I could wear it all day.

Anyway, I realized how dumb (read gay) a moment I had just had and walked right out, zipping my pants up, as I did.

What awaited me outside was a ride back through the shredded Aravalis, to a few hours of learning how to advertise good. The ride was exciting.It included a can of beer.

Publicis France not

My intro to the blog has been rendered viod.

I reset the privacy settings.

The blog is now open to public view and critique.

Thanks.

A momment in the life of a copywriter

The phone rang louder than id' ever heard. As it did, i snapped out of the gaze into my sub-conscious. It took a while till i realised things around me. In utter chaos - just as i'd left them.
I often leave myself behind...unwillingly, but i do. In my own world of utopia i wander... while my conscious spews garbage.

peek a BOO

background - pre noon, companyless, bright,still day; absolute silence, i notice my shadow falling on the rocks..... what resulted was a choppy piece of stream-of-consciousness writing.

note - the pic is from a different time, same location

Do i follow,

or does it follow me - my shadow?

- or am i one myself?

Im often advised by it about my anatomy - my hair in place- if not

But then 'I' command it mostly.

It has no inhibitions - falls on, steps on ,just about anything - it mingles well.

- It's formless, spineless!

Colourless?- or colourful?

Is my shadow my Reflection?? ( this question - assuming that It is my shadow, and im not one myself)

Opaque?-Transparent?-translucent?

is it alive?

Sugar -Sugar

Misty wind blast,

piercing cold.

-numb tips,

ears hurt,

Breath goes heavy.

-Freshness swallows me,

i go snow-blind

-as heaps of coke i conquer.