the paralyzing power of cliches is that it undermines creative thought or even the state of rebellion. ironically it most often shows up when called upon to represent individuality. it seems the effort is to soften the blow and to assure conformity. it has unfurled its bland, squib banner at work today parce quo les biggies visiting work & its interesting to note how the sartorial preferences of people has taken the zebra effect. black n white probably down to the undies & french manicure. power dressing. even a white sticker with black letterings of my name has been given to me. can i stick it to my forehead? i have intense dislikes for stickers/nameplates/entry stamps that need to be made on different parts of my anatomy. here's one time am not gonna give a rat's arse n shoot the messenger. unfortunately i feel my own power undermined & regret wearing this black formal skirt today. wish i was in my dirty jeans & a pleasant top. nothing over the top. just enough to give people a vague itch. am trying to work my way around this i-conform skirt of mine. perhaps i can create a lull of security & wham! bang when least expected.
well i flatter myself & like all megalomaniacs give more credit to my existence. i have rebelled before but never have i been so self-conscious. it defeats one you know. really it does. i wont be able to believe my own ears if the issue was smaller than how cool i looked when shooting down a biggie. ha! i'll wait n listen.

it's castle blandings and jaane bhi do yaaro. an absolute riot.

it takes to be inspired completely to fall in love immediately. you can't describe it. it just happens & you make that immediate decision to be a part of whatever that inspired you. you don't think twice & you never regret it. you were always meant to be part of that inspiration. that's precisely how i felt when i read this name - michael franti and spearhead. may be i had heard that name before. i dunno. but my heart skipped a beat. all i did was to listen to a track & i was hooked.
never believed in love at first sight. but it's possible. it's possible. a song, an ear ring, a cloud, a flower... 'the world's FULL of f***ing inspiration!' ... and i mean it

here's an amg review of michael franti's latest Yell Fire!
Michael Franti's worldview and his music are so tightly entangled that it's difficult to imagine one existing without the other. So none of his fans could have been all that surprised when Franti returned from a 2004 trip to war-torn regions of Iraq, Israel, and Palestine and subsequently released both I Know I'm Not Alone, a documentary film/DVD based on his travels, and Yell Fire!, his most socially conscious album to date. read more
here some of his music on youtube

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of course, now i have a distinct hanging ur balls out thot in my head...

mirror, mirror in my hall
who is ghostliest of them all?
why, 'tis you, my doll
pretending to be real
you got a gall

--and there ends the worst rhyme of this fall


expectations - they seem perfectly justified until the object of expectation turns around n talks abt their perfectly justified expectations. you then know not whom to kick n by hesitating u hav kicked urself. u make peace with ur lowered expectations n believe they r for real. the day will come when u hav exhausted ur expectations in tryin to meet someone else's n then on a breezy, sunny day u'll look into le mirror n scream. u don't see any reflections. u hav become a ghost

whoever said expectations are death of a relationship deserves a painful kick

sergei sergeyvich prokofiev - russian composer. famous for his compositions for romeo & juliet. listen here

end up reading a book twice mainly because i missed all the background & quirks. the destiny of the characters would have fascinated me more. pity, coz the art of the language goes unregistered. vikram seth's an equal music is one. will get back to it soon. but he is, without a doubt, the most lyrical novelist ever. even toni morrison pales.

thot these were good. springsteen & fogerty are brilliant as usual -

bruce springsteen's Magic
john fogerty's Revival
matchbox twenty's Exile in Mainstream

as kids, swingy numbers played on poorly tuned recorders & trumpets, loud drums, got us jiggin. the musicians burnt by the mangalore sun played on dressed in worn, blue, buggy uniforms. there was no attitude there, not even art. they played. people enjoyed it. everyone was taking a break. from the heat. from makin a living. from the red earth that reflected the sun painfully. and from the endless summer.
women with crackin skins & plastered cuticura dressed in heavy silks ignoring the heat. perfumes bought by sons from the gulf reeking in the hot, unbearably tight air. us kids, scruffy, despite the agitated cleaning of our mums...
listenin to john fogerty makes me remember those days. hot summers spent on the island of fun & the metaphors it gave for reminiscence.