For the love of Graffiti

I wish I was a punk rocker with a cast on my leg, she hummed.

...with flowers in my hair, he corrected, as he ruffled her hair.

Hmm. I love graffiti, She said.

I'm so envious of all those people with a fractured leg, a cast on their foot.

Those uber cool folks, with cooler friends who doodle.Sigh!

I want a wall of my own!

He would do anything for her. He dropped frozen fish on her foot.

She howled in pain and hopped around the room, as he checked for the nearest hospital.

Be careful what you wish for, she reminded herself.

She obviously hadn't thought this one over in detail.

As the tears dried up on her cheeks, her lips broke into a smile.

She & he, they drew colorful polka dots & stars on the foot cast, as they took a taxi back home from the clinic.

♥ ♥ ♥

We No Speak Americano

Such brilliant coordination & super creative. I just fell in love with these folks! ♥

An ode to the appraisal

They want me to play my part right

Jack rabbit in Shakespeare is quite rare

Jack rabbit in Shakespeare would surely be interesting

It's a different story though,meant for a different ring

The spot light is where I want to be

The mob is here for Brutus, not for hoppity skip shindig

Brutus is what I will play today

Take a slow bow, Send a quick kiss in the air

Jack rabbit in Shakespeare would surely be interesting

It's a different story though,meant for a different ring

Faux Peacock

He had been in a foul mood all day, kicking up a storm, cussing his heart out. I had no idea, what it was that had him twisted in a knot.

Poor pup dopey had gotten kicked a few times already; the next kick and Shraaz would lose a chunk of his foot. I was very sure. Any more cussing and a snapped head, that’s what he would have. Of that I was doubly sure.

Shraaz went to the cupboard, it had been in the family through many generations, seen many a skeletons. When one has lived so long, nothing really ever shocks. He pulled out an old tin box, it held candy once, the fading print last of its memories of better, sweeter days. Shraaz now pulled out a tuft of fuzz, a five strand hair piece. It looked like something the cat brought in. It was his prized possession. The men in his family, up until four generations before him had worn the bit with great pride. It had seen better days, days when the strands were many more.

With his preciousness held gently in the palm of his hands, Shraaz pulled out a can of silver spray. Like an artist working on his masterpiece, he sprayed across the strands with utmost precision. Out came the tube of glue , “ Stick ‘em up Pardner”, the energies looked like they were brightening up, all ready to cut through the gloom set by the Shraaz-ness all morning.

The glue went onto the fuzz... he slapped it onto his scantily clad head. The foul mood was all magically gone. The furry silver crown had brought out the peacock in Shraaz. With his silver fringe, the shining glory, he strutted around in circles, arrogance dripping all over.

It was a difficult choice, didn’t quite know what I liked better, his crass or the royal, pain in the rear end arrogant version.

Shraaz was in all surety the last who would use the head piece.

A silver crown is all that’s required to change the drama? A piece of magic ... did it do the exact same thing five generations in a row?

How can a harmless piece of nothing become a piece of program so vital to ones existence? I wonder... I wonder about my own program peacock, that vestigial bit of my psyche which has overstayed its visit. Time for the faux peacock hunt!

Peacock Man by John Coulthart

Mighty Cherokee

Voices streamed from the room outside, sounded like visitors, a friend. It sounded like her.

I thought she had been haunting my dreams, but this one wasn’t a dream. Every time I sensed her presence, she left me shaken. The experience, with time, had become less emotional, but I was yet to figure why she was always around , that bothered me.

Well, think about it, if she wasn’t around for a reason, she would have disappeared into the scenery, I would have never noticed her. But this one, yes, she was always there, standing around silently most times, being the devil’s advocate the other times. The chink in my link, who I knew would never harm me, but still bothered me. I am annoyed. I have to figure this out.

I am Cherokee , the mighty Cherokee. I cannot be bothered. I should never be bothered.

My room was dark.

How did it get so dark? How long had I been asleep, I wondered

I felt around for the light switch, turned it on... No illumination... I hit the button a few times hoping that it would work. No such luck.

Why do we always believe that hitting the button a gazillion times will make the broken work!? I still haven’t figured that one out.

Maybe she could help. Is that what she was here for? ...To be my oracle!?

The light was out for now. No one ever gets anything right around here . I would have to tackle this too on my own . What would happen to this place if I wasn’t around... sigh!

Sounds like a job for Miiighty Cherokee... Cherokee will save another day! Cherokee Powerrrrrrrr!

What was with all the darkness anyways? Why could I not see? My eyes were wide open , I knew it. But not a peep, could I see.

I got up from my low bed, crawled some, stumbled some, as I felt my way around – A carton, table... no chair...SQWACK!..Oops...squeaky toy. Where am I ? Where am I going?

I tried walking towards the voices. It was all suddenly very far away. What had happened!? Had I gone blind?

This wasn’t right. I couldn’t see, but I could see - A silver, lining the darkness, kind of surrealism.

As I stumbled about, I don’t remember a speck of fear, a kind of peace had set in.

I found my spot and settled myself in . At that very moment, there she was. Right behind, I could hear her breathe.

I reached back for her hands, brought her arms around me. As her hands rested by my side for the shortest while, I knew I was safe.

Her arms my shield from the darkness around, I knew at that moment that I did not need to do it all on my own. Somebody had finally got it right.

I didn’t care about being blinded anymore, and the voices from the distance were gone. Her work here was done ... she blended into the dark.

I, Cherokee, went freefalling into the black...Mighty Cherokee finally learnt to fly

The Great Britannica

The Great Britannica is shutting its gates forever”, she said.

“This is our last chance to go visit... the last 80 days”

I sneaked a peek into the schedule in her hand. The yellowing paper broken at its edges, the old school cursive script a tint of brown- It all looked like it belonged to another time.

Why a shutdown?, I wondered

I don’t have a visa to get there, be part of the last 80 days. The line outside the consulate will be a long one. How will I get there? I want to be there! London!, My mind rambled away.

Wait! I grabbed the schedule off her hands –

“Flying trapeze artists, Fire eaters, the bearded lady and talking lions”, What is this all about?

Uh Oh! A jumped scene. Accidental tap of the Kaleidoscope ONCE AGAIN. Ugh! I need to stop doing this ever so often. It is very confusing to my reality.

The Great Britannica - The circus was to stay in town for two weeks. Twenty years later it was still around. It ruled our hearts and washed out our brain all yellow.

Everyone loves a Circus, we loved it too. We clapped our hands and shrieked in Joy as we saw the Jesters hit each other with giant hammers and cannon ball themselves to faraway places. We sat astounded as the magicians painted us illusions of another world. We loved the oasis of colour and joy, all things wonderful, we would never let it go, never ever.

We plotted and schemed to make them stay, and the circus soon spilled over the town. For twenty years while we stared in awe at all that was vibrant, we lost our own sparkle within. Every day that passed, we clung on tighter, for fear of losing that which was dear.

Soon, the town itself was a circus, with a string of aping monkeys, and folks jumping through loop holes for fun. When that stopped being the fix, we moved to human cannon balls. More brutal, much more entertaining.

Ho hum! All this sadism is not much fun anymore, so we took the toxic to another level. Our hearts soared as blood founts spurted all over; we had finally reached that state of pure joy. This must be what they call Nirvana.

The last of the Magicians lay in the circus tent, the final act by the troupe. Only that he wouldn’t conjure up rabbits and doves out of the hat this time, it was his time to go. As the axe fell to a grand finale, he whispered, The Great Britannica is shutting its gates forever. Last 80 days. The circus is moving to another town

For us the circus ended that day. We were satiated, in a state of bliss. Little did we realise that in the absence of the others, the circus was now us.

The aping monkeys had no one to ape now and soon gave up the ghost, the absence of loop holes made our everyday life more and more tedious...

We had to find our peace; he had to hunt once again. In the midst of the new found realization that the circus was still not dead, we started hunting for that piece of peace, we turned against ourselves.

True to the words of the master illusionist, The Great Britannica shut its gates forever. 80 days, a town painted red, the circus had moved to another town

Mystery of a Plan

How do I make a five year plan , when I don’t even know what tomorrow will be like!? Yes, in my head, tomorrow will be identical to today. Not too many day- to - day variances when you are running in a full-fledged power saving mode. But then, there is still scope of a random phone call, a conversation or a reading that would trigger something to break the pattern.

How much into the future can you see? How clear is the future you see?

I have been asked to make five year plans before, but never been taught how to make one. Weird enough, I don’t think anyone I know has had a clue about it themselves, and if they did, they have guarded it like their best known secret. Well, that or I being the proud epitome of impulsive and random never bothered to ask. Plans never work for me, I always said.

Whatever the case, this one is now turning out to be just as obscure as gazing into the crystal ball and fortune telling.

This art of planning is something one is born with, I have started to believe. I surely missed the whole lesson on plans when it was being taught in some remote corner of the galaxy. As usual, I may have been up to learning some “more important” random lessons somewhere else.

With a void in my head where the lesson was supposed to be, I decided to try unravelling the mystery on my own.

It’s been close to two weeks since I started pondering on this one, and while it was triggered by a catalytic little incident, a plan chalked out in oblivion. I believe I may have cracked the code.

There are text books that will give you all the theory you need about plans, business plans to be more specific, but, it is only knowledge. You gain some, you lose some, it is just data, and is useless unless you know how to apply it. The true value is in its application. Life is surely more than planning about business, and I haven’t come across any text books telling me how to plan my life, a bigger issue that, compared to a Business Plan. Planning your life is something you just do along the way.

So we plan, a 99.9% in B School, work for a Fortune 100 company, get married by the age of 28, have kids by the age of 32 , make the first billion by the age of 40. Sure, this is a great wish list, but is there a detailed plan around this? Are the action steps well defined and do we have counter measures for the possible glitches. Most ideas fail because of a lack of proper planning. We leave half baked thoughts floating in space, hoping for them to find their way home. They eventually do find their way home, but they also bring along the 3 little pigs and the big bad wolf, because we let those thoughts wandering without specific instructions - "Don't talk to strangers"

We wonder where we are headed as time and again we encounter road blocks, twisted wishes and everything ugly. Wonder where we went wrong.

In time comes realization,even if your life seems like a chain of random events, a crack of lightening through the gray clouds over your head,one fine day, exposes the order in the chaos, brings into vision all that fits perfectly in the divine plan. While some seem to have a head start, eventually we all catch up.

A plan is all about being able to clearly see your objective, your cause. The machinery of this world runs on planning. We run our own personal universes, all our individual universes fitting into the master plan.

The towers touching the sky were built by architects who could imagine these tall structures speaking to the sky, no scope for mistakes, they imagined it all, the foundation, the concrete mix, the earthquake resistance, the tint on the glasses, they saw it all.

It is only with such depth of detailing can we plan, and plan right. There are no uncertainties, no coincidences. You design your own fate. You plan the future you want. It’s up to you to blind walk the road or rid yourself of the blind fold and be aware of every step you take and the consequences of each step, absorb the scenery.

Being an optimist is great. If you are one like I am, faith should come fairly easy. The difficult lesson though will be preparing for adversities. In our world, everything is perfect and when we are hit with a not so ideal situation, we break, and how. We eventually do rise like the phoenix from the ashes, but it would be so much better if we didn’t burn to ashes every time there was a fire and had a fire extinguisher handy, just in case.

A good plan is one in which we can clearly see our goal, and the path to our goal. The clarity of path includes visions of all possible road blocks and solutions to get past them. It is an exciting adventure, this treasure hunt, with codes to decipher and riddles to solve, each step taking us to a higher level.

Easy Peasy, Exciting? Now all we need is a purpose, a cause we feel for. An active imagination. And Faith, tons of it.

______________________________________________________________

08 Jun 10

I am still learning the art of detailing, and here's something that I found - a brilliant tool for planning. It's a step-by-step methodology for chalking out a plan. Check it out http://chrisguillebeau.com/Ideal-World.doc

Better Still! Chris Guillebeau's Guide to World Domination . I broke into a Joy Dance after this one ;D

Day of the Ogre

Aaargh! So the anti hero is back. For all the excitement over brilliance, and the moment of epiphany when everything made sense, the day after has been the day of the ogre. Too many questions. Demand for specifics. Trend Reports. Analysis. Blah!

“You are headed for brilliance”, that’s great! Care to explain what this brilliance is all about?

Now only if I could explain brilliance to the buffoon.

If I could I would.

I cannot. It’s personal. I decide I don’t want to explain. I don’t want to explain it to the alter ego which is me and I don’t want to explain to anyone else who doesn’t get it.

My buffoon is going nowhere, it will hang around for a while, sulk in some corner hoping for an answer, and head out to find another raw nerve to trigger. The others who aren’t restricted within the confines of my cranial cavity will also stick around or go. Such is life.

And that’s the reason why I work alone.

The line is worn thin from all that use, and I finally get it. A different story, for a different day. For now let’s just assume I am one of those superhero snoots who don’t believe in sidekicks.

My life has turned into an eternal dance – 3 steps forward, 2 steps back, half a step forward, back. Every time I holler in joy for a cipher cracked, the course produces a new set of codes. The closer I get to the treasure, the obstacles bigger, tower over me. These supposedly bigger obstacles however, are not very menacing any more. It’s either a purpose, now not too far from being unveiled that numbs out the fear and pushes me to march on, or I have played this game too long, worked my way through the glitches and the maze is now just a predictable set of pieces that instinctively fit in when one has worked on putting them together, too often, for too long.

Faith and a few tricks is all you need to get through. An ogre who plays devil’s advocate is a nice pet; mine does the Polly parrot perched on my shoulder calling for crackers and some things inane, as I find my way through the last of the patches on my eye.

Sometimes he’s your plain old defence mechanism, the other times an echo of the self desecrating rouge program designed to disillusion you, but most of the times he is an alternate point of view, one that keeps you from stagnating, brings you closer to you.

End of the Maze. End of the story you think? This one maybe. But surely the beginning of a newer , more exciting one. Race you to the cup .... see where the portkey takes us this time.

Electric Whips, Iron Man and Me

This isn't a movie review. Just a lowdown on what it did for me.

Don’t understand how anyone can wake up early to go catch a movie. It’s just a movie for God's sake! I did wake up though, yesterday was my first - the first show of a movie on the first day of screening, and what a first! I walked out of multiplex, with a skip in my step and a wide grin pasted to my face. Don’t remember the last time I was exhilarated by a movie like this. Don’t remember the last time I was ecstatic about anything like this.

My senses are all cranked up as I hear the whips crack in my head. Iron Man 2, with its brilliance and its flaws has left me very inspired.

I have seen creative genius before. Many films out there, alternate universes, trailers of the potential that is, a life that can be. A book is probably a better trigger to my imagination, it gives me the creative liberty to do what I want with the story, go as big and loud as I want to and I am not restricted by another’s vision. A film like this once in a while however does more than it was meant to do. A visual treat with its double dose of brilliance - the brilliance of a reality created by special effects you want to be a part of and the brilliance of characters. Characters that you cannot take your eyes off, characters that leave you wanting for more.

Whip lash aka Ivan Vanko aka Mickey Rourke leaves me stunned. A genius of a character and very misunderstood, at that. Like many geniuses out there, gone to waste over an inane lost cause. The grace of a man of that bulk cracking his electric whips to a beautiful dance. I want to play the whips like him. Feel the power, be one with it.

And of course, then there is the Oh so narcissistic genius of Tony Stark aka Iron Man aka Robert Downey Jr. Very few people who can be narcissistic like he is, and be loved for it. Anyone who recognises the brilliance within is allowed to be proud, he better be proud. I do not understand humble brilliance. Well, I do understand it, but it’s not for me.

I am a borderline narcissist and I don’t know how to say that without the pejorative hue that comes with it, but I am very proud to be one. Don’t know how one evolves like that when the programming is to live modestly, be humble, and stay within limits. But I am probably one only because of the program. To never forget the humble beginning, but to also not believe in limits anymore. Not made to be mediocre.

Ever felt power that left you overwhelmed, scared and in awe of the brilliance all at once? I am in search of that exuberance. In search of the electric excitement, triggered by the whip lash, I want to crack along and feel that power every moment of my existence.

I know what I want to be when I grow up Mommy... I want to be Tony Stark and I want to be Whiplash, all rolled into one. I want Brilliance.

I'm the super hero just out from my coma. Struggling to remember my super power. Learning to be the super hero I want to be.

What's the Point?

It’s a difficult task putting yourself in someone else’s shoes.

When you have a point of view, about something, or everything, the world around you with a different view is usually a bunch of morons who cannot think right. So even if you learn to not throw your disgust into the other person’s face, the sniggering oaf in your head gloats about its super intelligence and ability to see what no one else can see. The others, who haven’t learnt the art of keeping the oaf in hiding, just get down and dirty, sling some mud, have a fist fight.

The more I see these debates and hear the endless arguments – good and bad, right and wrong, I can’t help but grimace over the fact, how pointless they are. And no! Not an argument for my point of view here; it’s just a point of view, as right or wrong as any other.

As hard it is prancing around in another’s shoe, it's worse when the shoe feels as good as your own. What a dilemma once you start seeing a point in the pointless, and the point being, how pointless it all is. The realization that while you see a tree, someone else can only see the sea. All reality, just a different window. In the thick of a battle, when one has a point of view to defend, how does one react to the army of arguments disappearing in thin air? What does one do when there are no more battles to fight?

I do not know when battles became a purpose of life and I do not know how and why people became so toxic, so destructive, but I do know that while I ramble away, trying to make a point it’s already all pointless. I do not have a fight left in me. The oaf in my head has long gone, and a void remains. Echoing an argument that was, the demons slain.

What more does one say to add to the pointless, to make it less point-less!? Just be, and let them be.