Inside the Green Wine Bottle is the Core of My World, or where is it?

It is six and early in the morning, but my night is not yet over.
I am awake in my sleep, for my eyes have not yet winked.
I have wiped cleaned the paint, that spilled off my first canvas,
On which sits a bright red strawberry, hidden in my blue world.
This is Core of the World. The Core of My World.
The Core of the World is what you see.

Task finished: I have finally painted my first ever canvas in my entire life. The Canvas is the core of my world. I used acrylic paints, fingers, old brushes, and torn up sponge. No techniques, probably no skill. But, my painting on my canvas. Then, washed the brushes and my hand with a strong Lifeboy handwash, and scrubbed the floor clean with Pril. Energy is beating its way to my heart.

rajasthan village woman who fed me dinner - bhajra rotis

I found this woman in the sky, the land of the stars, where the milky way was mine and hers! A secret revealed at 5.30 a.m. Is a secret of Suns and Moons and Flowers new?

a mosaic obsession

fall within the facets - boredom!

A man flying in his dreams....sleeps

click on it to see in original size!

the song of solomon

a dolphin beetle story

moksha trainers

automatic wheels

and the variety of questions, identities, and roads?

the mindless creatures climb the trees and fade away with lead lines...

Popped

I have got this sudden fascination for this world of Pop Art. I have been reading bits and pieces on how it originated. The term first appeared in Britain, in the 1950s. It encompasses much of the twentieth century art. Let's see what I get doing in the next few days. Blaaaah.

pedestrian chronicle

The walk, the click of my heels and the thoughts that melted like old icecream into milk, took me home. We saw into each other's eyes, my shadow and I. The afternoon high was lowering itself to a simmer, still severely toasting foreheads. I drew out a small camera and decided to see the world move, spin and happen. With the feeling of owning the world, a part of it, with every image and thought that transpired in the time being the few minute walk seemed an hour. An eon long journey! Let this sink on you, colours fly. I forced a glass of rose milk on myself to taste some childhood again. I did, some memories rushed back as I swallowed pink. Pink milk! Rose milk! Milk! Neighbours and paati. The blueness took me over and swirled me out on to the road. Everyone seemed so nice and I seemed like the kid, the one who never understood the world and yet had all the answers.

Some men are creepy, women too. Some people are creepy. They have the weirdest things to say and do not care about appropriateness. Yesterday, I met a man, in the bus, who decided to talk about women's stuff (oh! he was apparently refering to breasts). He kept on telling me that I have good "stuff" and that guys would be following me around like ducks. Well, he even offered a talk over coffee and a transparent suggestion on him being my groom. Yuck! Going through this is not new, but to know people like this exist creeps me out. I am talking about those who are open talking about bodies and desires, but those who impose it on others with the hint or rather the highlight of pervertedness.

If this doesn't cause irritation, I don't know what else will. There are some people, even if you're compulsively nice to them, one never wishes to meet. This man met a category and for once I felt happy in stereotyping. The rest of the bus ride, after the man declared he was getting off the bus half-heartedly, I stared out of the window with a blank stare. The blankness stared back. The road grew wider and wider, more people seemed to crop up. A river of thoughts seemed to flow above my head. Money seems to feature a very big part of my life these days. It's sad and I don't know it kind of has this nice flavour of responsibility added to it.

No money has the ability of making you feel abandoned from yourself. Especially, after getting a taste of what that piece of promise note is capable of, one can't think further but for the want of more of it. It flies, and it makes you flies. Nothing to deny. With no money, I wouldn't write, blog, or take photos, or be what all I am about now. The essence itself, if created by the activities I indulge in, will disappear the minute my pockets go empty and lose the hope of getting filled. Such is the morbidity and materialism of life, and much ado about nothing to simply deny things and put on collared white coats. Goodness is far more than just morality, a personal ethics goes futher.

The ruggedness is a good thing to cultivate. One must allow themselves to watch the rugged messiah sleep under the tree with koels flying around him, sometimes in dreams and mostly in reality. Watch the messiah sleep and you will wake up. Wake up the messiah and you will sleep.

This is the problem with people. They forget they can fly and search for the wrong cliffs or just forget to search the last pocket, always the best. We end up settling, obsessively. What a world?

I sign off with just some sporadic images. Some studying has to happen in this world. I get this egoistic pleasure when I top my exams, more than competing with others (though, this emotion exists), I just like telling myself I'm smart. Muaahahahha. I am sad in many ways. I traumatize people. I laugh at people's plight when it doesn't really hurt them. I can incessantly argue about nonsense. I just need good sleep, lots of water, and proper food. I must add that Vasanth Vihar next to college, a small vegetarian hotel, does give a very nice meals for just Rs. 25. I am a compulsive eater. I eat food. And food has no barriers. It is the flavour of enjoyment, only surpassed by words, music, and colours. Bye.