Beating the Bushes

No. Not beating around the bush but beating the bushes. I search for the one person who would balance my impulsive, obsessive nature.

Unsuited for Marine Biology

Or is it that marine biology is not tailored for me? Whatever the case maybe, my experiment yesterday failed. There was no chemistry. The end result was not explosive by any stretch of the imagination. I am not intrigued anymore. It is too tame a venture to sustain. Snap is intelligent but he does not posess the fire that he so often claims to have. And now for the most important reason - every single minute I spent yesterday with my experiment I felt it was betrayal. We can be friends but never lovers. Even if you do not belong with someone else, Snap, which I know you do not, the canvas has been stained. By someone else. I do not complete other people's paintings.
While we are talking about painting. My split piece is almost complete. I have been working on it for a few months now. I have a few finishing touches to add but cannot do so till it dries out completely. Hopefully the surface should be ready by the end of the week for me to complete it. I am not satisfied but I am happy with what I have created.
Let me leave you with pictures of the last of the summer rains.

And it happened yet again. I was thinking of PoleStar. I started writing about him. I wrote all about him, me, us. I deleted every single word. Portmanteau is right. Somethings are too private to be shared on a blog. It struck me yet again, that I can post my most intimate feelings, but I cannot post a single line about PoleStar.
In other news. My interests in marine biology have been rekindled. For a social philosopher, it does get too scientific at times. Judgemental perhaps? Let us see where this flirtation takes me. Then there is the question of loyalty. Is this interest a betrayal? I think not. It serves a purpose, quenches a thirst. I have no qualms in vocalising the fact that I am exploring new avenues to fulfill old desires. I make no promises of love and faithfulness. It is an experiment. And like all experiments, there is nothing objective, accurate or verifiable about it.
Setting marine biology (specifically Snap) aside for a short while, let me tell you about my StealthBomber. Tea and the mandatory exploration of fire exits and other unseen parts of a mall was refreshing. I do wish he wouldnt go off the radar ever so often. But then, he is a StealthBomber!

New season

When new seasons arrive, they bring with them new smells, sights and sounds. Every season has a feel to it. I relish feeling the 'feel'. A new season is upon us. Upon me. The season of office politics. After a week long hiatus, I return, to the battlefield. What lies in store for me shall soon be revealed. In two hours to be precise.

तारीफ

अपने आप को सजाते हुए
कुछ खयाल आते है...
अपने आप पर गुरूर् है.
गुस्ताखी माफ् हो, पर हम सच कहेन्गे
वही खयाल,
साजन के लफ्ज़ो मे होते
तो वो अलफाज़ खूबसूरत कहलाते...
न वो था
न वो है
उसके मिलने की आस तो है
पर आप पर गुरूर कम न होगा....
हम उनके गज़ल है,
चाहे उनके अनकहे हो
पर, हमे अपने आप पर नाज़ है

सचाई किसी ऒर के कहने से ऒर सच नही होती
एक बार झान्क के तो देखो
नाज़ का नज़ारा साफ नज़र आता है.

About the person I hate

There is one person I hate. She is the worst creature that could have ever lived. I wish death upon her.
I do not say this because I am unwell and my id has overtaken my superego due to the pain my body is going through and the desires of the subconcious is not being moderated. Neither is this because I am derilious. I say this because I know her for twenty four years. Oui, vingt quatre ans.
Do me a favour, the next time you see her, please push her in front of highway traffic, off a building (make sure she is sufficiently high up in terms of storeys), into a lake (preferably a glacial lake, she knows to swim you know, the glacial lake will freeze her), off a cliff, into a volcano... do something. I will do it someday, I know.
If you need help in identifying this monster who does not deserve to live, she goes by the name of

Unwell - Life in the natural world

I am unwell and have been so since the 1st of May. I took a day off from work last week, with not so pleasant consequences. The rest of the week, I dragged myself to the office and suffered silently through the work day. It left me drained and fatigued, with no time to relax. I had precious little sleep and certainly no recreation. I smiled and waltzed through my birthday, just wishing for a moment to lie down, to rest. The weekend whizzed past.
Yesterday, I woke up with a temperature of a 102 degrees. I fainted whilst I was dressing but managed to keep it a secret. Yes, I did visit my physician. He has forbidden me from 'any physical acitivity'. I have a serious infection that is causing the fever. I shall not cause any of you decent folk to feel squeamish with further descriptions. I shall move right on.
The corporate world is straight out of Hobbes' Leviathan. Life, in this 'natural world' is 'short, nasty and brutish'. I could lose my job, or atleast my credibilty for not having gone to work. The predators are lurking in the shadows. They can smell blood and are out for the kill. (No, Portmanteau, I am not obsessing or being paranoid) This is a stark reality. There are too few jobs and too many people. There is but one position at the top (even at the bottom for that matter). Merit does not get you there. Warfare does.
There is no compassion, not because the organization would come to a stand still if one person does not turn up, but there is no compassion, because it is indeed a state of the jungle: the survival of the fittest, the wiliest. Kill or be killed. My defenses are down. My absence is weapon enough for my opponents. They have enough ammunition now. Would they strike, now or will they strike later?

Alienation

Its been a series of Work Wars. Work is always war - bloody and mindless. Insanity is my only escape. It fascinates me to observe people at work: Are people that alienated from themselves and their work that they begin to believe in the broken images of Ideology, the appelation is accepted unquestiongly. Or have they created their own lived reality, an escape from the imposition from above?
Marx was right, when he described the alienation that is produced from the capitalistic mode of production - the meaninglessness, the powerlessness and the isolation. Working in a corporate is a indeed a lonely, mundane and hollow. But in this environment, breeds a culture that is constantly shaped by its players. Let s move to Althusser, maybe he can provide for us an answer. (Borrowing from popular music) On the boulevard of broken dreams, the interpelation of the subject and Ideology is inevitable. The creation of the narrative is thus not just an imposition of a (Gramscian) Hegemony but the voice of sub altern, beginning to speak, albeit, in a soft whimper, a sly aside.