Riders in the Sky - what they signify ,or, APOCALYPSE NOW!!!

most(moxt, mozt, whatever) of you do not know college.
most of you have never even heard of maya john.
this being my third and last year here is also not likely to be of earth shattering significance to you.
but she is the first female president in college in 125 years - and that perhaps will make you pause.
funnily enough, that is about the least important thing i have written yet.

don't you see, this is the end to stephania as we know it... though who knows interesting things may come out of it yet -

as we speak abhishek panda has arranged an anga protest where they all dressed in black and carried candles to the mess with placards saying 'looking for men's p.g.s'
Panda!

as we speak uttam and aby are throwing the first ever joint losing camp party tonight for which as it turns out none of us are going - despite rumours of 18000 rs. worth of booze.

as we speak a pervasive fog of apathy steals over andrews court, and its ignorant victims in main corr fail to notice the blue funk they all seem to be floating around in.
this is the saddest college has ever been, even i dey and willie now mutter restlessly in their sleep and pull the blankets tighter around themselves.

somewhere in the labyrinths of another newly converted block, high pitched maniacal laughter lingers in the corners, driving out the last tenacious ghosts of countless room BAAPS and DADAS, who scurry out clutching their translucent airy white balls.

Of Virgins and Vertigo

watching my 6

this might be me getting paranoid again but i think a lizard has been following me around for about a week now. At first when i saw it on my car driving to ambala, i thought it was just a poor hitch-hiker, but the increasingly alarming frequency with which it tends to sort of 'drop into' my life is beginning to arouse my long dormant suspicions. though i haven't been able to get a good look at its face so far, the general description is always the same - biggish, yellow-brown, eeky and slithery. if you see it around please get in touch. Am hitting back by being pro-active and stalking the stalker. i will outslink the reptile - watch me crawl
up a wall.
it's watching me from the comp next to mine as i type this - i kid you not - i think it might just be one of harish's evil-minded minions - who needs webcams?

here's lookin at you kid

another place i'll never hit the teens again.
semi sweet bitter blues. the bluesy poetick monster resurfaces, only to submerge again to the murky depths of the vague, unformulated, verbally immobilised surging foamy seas.
"For he hath fed on honey-dew
And drunk the milk of paradise."
beware beware... and i will carefully sidestep, dodge, ignore and otherwise outmanouver any hair comments. Eat my dust suckers!
Yamaha 350 is my newest love in life - all ye faithful, now celebrate, a crush is finally upon us.

fade out to sounds of ecstatic cheering, wild clapping and whistles, with a half-disguised note of someone in the audience having a quiet orgasm to themselves.

However, one is free to disagree,
vehemently,
lukewarmly ,
or not, as the case may be.

dissenters/heretics/unconverted heathens

The hollow chocolate bunnies of the apocalypse

A fresh look at - The Excorcist

ok the title has nothing to do with anything - its just the misleading title of a book i once picked up that failed utterly and completely to live up to the promise of its rather intriguing title... talkin of failing to live up and all that...Happy independence day or Something. and the world really never slept at midnight did it... and india never awoke... still grand rhetoric and all
losing my re vision. have stared at a screen pretty much two whole days now, and the air is so thick and wet i'm swimming in it, and heavier than the dead sea too.
incidentally, ever heard of a movie called Miller's Crossing? it's by the same people who gave us barton fink

the potentially tantalising tale of ramu and the flying thapar

since the hair raising exploits of the chaddimaster was taken off the air due to some rather unforeseen circumstances (involving the accidental revelation of the secret identity of that much loved savior of the people), this spot will now be dedicated to the transmission of cheap reruns of the once popular sitcom/family drama/soap/thriller "The exploits of Ramu the vampire boy aka Chhotu".
to know more, watch this space
Stay tuned...
coming up next: yet another day in the dreary life of our producers/sponsors...Why Knot i kask Kyou

Happy French Mistake

Still recovering from the stinging lashes of witty critics from the back of beyond, or first world countries as they're otherwise called. Anyways, what do you who sit in your air conditioned, un power cutted jazzy coffee places on gay street know about the conditions this writer has to struggle out of on a daily basis just to crawl upto this blog in order to get a breath of fresh air or a forum for expression. Here where they say "Off With their heads" before you even get a word in edgeways, this poor persecuted lizard/scribe has had to resort to various means, devious, nefarious and otherwise, merely to get a word in, out, or around, as the case may be. Before I hit upon this priceless parcel of post, you might have heard of me under such pseudonyms as: Isaac Bickerstaff, A Dissenter, A Person of Quality, A Person of Honour, M.B. Drapier, T.R.D.J.S.D.O.P.I.I.
yeah yeah I know i'm not proud, but then i'm not any of the above either.
incidentally the chronic allusiveness and intertextuality of this post is at an all time high.
Go ahead, swing home reaper, the golden wheat sways all the way to the guillotine, dancing to its lone last lilting song.

maybe its just me but there's something intensely unreal about a tiny pale green caterpillar crawling slowly across my screen as I type this. And he's on the outside of the screen, my side of reality, this touchable world. However, in the space between this sentence and the last, he has fallen off, shaken himself, realized the absurdity of his position and slunk away under the colossal weight of the improbability of him being here at all. A consciousness poised between 'history and ignorance': someone , I forget who, said that to be a great poet beyond twenty five one needs a sense of politics. or something to the effect, the point to me being that before the age of 25 one can be a great poet nevertheless.
"I want to do to you what spring does to the cherry trees" now theres a thought... chile is one place i miss, all the time i's somewhere else, but then every point in the space time continuum where i'm not is a place i miss so....