Wednesday, December 28, 2011
Sunday, May 29, 2011
Saturday, May 7, 2011
The symptoms of sleep paralysis include sensations of noises, smells, levitation, paralysis, terror, and images of frightening intruders. Once considered very rare, about half of all people are now believed to experience sleep paralysis sometime during their life.
Sleep paralysis strikes as a person is moving into or out of REM (rapid eye movement) sleep, the deepest part of sleep. During REM sleep the body is largely disconnected from the brain leaving the body paralyzed. Sleep paralysis is the result of premature (or persistent) mind-body disconnection as one is about to enter into (or exit from) REM sleep.
Sleep paralysis occurs most often after jet lag or periods of sleeplessness that interrupt the normal REM patterns. It affects both sexes equally and occurs at all ages but is most common in teenagers. Sleep paralysis can be familial and may be genetic (inherited) in some cases."
Jewbuz H Stalin. This explains a lot. There goes my explanation (it wasn't that silly).
I should honestly not be on my blog right now. My Public Law book is of a gargantuan composition and so far has bested me in more regards than one.
Why than am I being of the same nature as those who bitch, moan and do not rectify? The same inexplicable reason as they are of that nature. No better or worse off than them.
My perpetual visitations upon your blogs is during the time when I am typing out drafts for posts. WHICH I should not be doing but it has always been this annoying, inconveniently vile habit of my mind to feel inspired when I am studying. And when I say inspired, I do not mean in real terms of creative-prowess. This personal, sub-conscious plane which I have yet not acquainted you with yet for lack of enthusiasm, where jingoism of purple, homage paid to random patterns of marble, creamy is functionality and all nouns growing up to be adjectives is commonplace. Rarely published.
My play is a go. Duago shall be done by the end of this summer. I need a mime-choreographer. My brain refuses to keep the process at bay till the 20th of May. No, it will not. I am put into this freaky limbo of fear and anticipation where I know for sure that during my Law exam, I will get some epiphany about dramatic representation. Some, DEEPLY, ENGAGING, intrusion of my train of thought. And...what tears me apart at this point is not knowing why I am treating this as an imminent reality, or which outcome terrifies me more: forgetting the idea after the exam or screwing up my exam. Gah. I over-thunked.
Looking forward to the indie-game of the year is quite distracting as well. I miss quite a few friends. I wish I was travelling with them over this summer.
This that and a drizzle of procrastination.
Perhabz I think that telling you lot this will give some degree of substance to my hiatus. Yes. It is. For those of you reading. See you in 13 days.
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Thursday, April 7, 2011
Yes I've found my enthusiasm to dine on the rocks.
To not decide between hot and cold ground I chose socks.
I'll wish I had in my possession an excuse that would validate,
For me to stay there.
The sun isn't as big as last time and I don't have time to wait.
Again I'll come there.
But tomorrow I'm chasing options and security.
If you go into the sea once more pull out your pockets,
I've learnt from last time.
Sand won't deposit inside and collect shells to make lockets
There might be a next time.
As we exit the water, savouring it like you're supposed to,
I don't know if I am.
I'll smell the salt, walk a little slower and thats all I'll do.
I don't think I am.
From tomorrow I'm chasing options and security.
Monday, March 28, 2011
With a discernible list of attributes,
That make me dart towards you.
A charming piece of personality,
An engineered array of surprises.
Will I really bend far to know you?
Compatible with my imagination,
Sufficiently eccentric to absorb me.
You were such or I have unleashed you.
Do you really talk to colours when I ask,
Humour me to keep up with standards?
I'm not sure the randomness annoys you.
Insecure about old this and new that,
How to gauge the endearment,
When imperfection is worn by you.
Why are you on my plate; my next chase,
That I will not get up for until,
I have sufficiently stared at you.
Inconsistent with many avenues,
That are availed on the path you tread.
My writing is only as erratic as you.
Don't think you mesmerize my senses,
A drop of gold in spontaneity and planning.
I compare and contrast all rarity to you.
Don't think this undoes a value,
That you will be looked forward to,
Until I try my best to come by you.
Would you appeal to me and myself,
Had we met a decade ago.
Have I been looking for you?
And if instead I could bargain off with,
Respect and happiness for us both,
Would I let go of you?
Why do you give the perfect impression,
Of the mixed excitement and security.
Is that what I expect of you?
Feelings are anything but a badge of surety,
But they are substantially existent.
And it scares me: I question myself about you.
And I wonder if I'll have another cigarette.
Are you the excuse or the substance.
I really shouldn't associate this bench with you.
Saturday, March 12, 2011
The sexual innuendo is unnerving.
I would prefer my ribs to let be.
It's not that sharp of a feeling.
In my every step I don't see,
How to account for the shock
Saturday, March 5, 2011
1. Accept this award graciously because your blog is simply awesome.
2. Pass it on to five (5) other bloggers who have simply awesome blogs and tell them about it. Either by commenting on their blog, emailing them, etc.
3. List five things that you find simply awesome.
4. Pass these rules on [copy, paste]
I love Furree Katt, for appreciating my blog along with the bears, the trees, a frog or two, communista simpaticos, the aliens who died of boredom along the way while observing our way of life and the friend or two who cared enough to
stalk but not follow.
For what its worth. I thought this blog was meant for people like you. And if the posts get an inch too long, remember they take a mile of sincerity to come up with.
5 BLOGGERS THAT WHICH A DINOSAUR DOTH FIND AWESOME:
The Me at Psych Rant . I like the feel of this blog and I find the blogger to be genuine.
El Demonio at Were it a girl. By far the most accurate and helpful reviews. What drew me to his blog was the fact that he read some amazing manga. I found in him a fellow lover of Detroit Metal City.
Peter Streusel at Haterade Everyday . Streusel has given meaning to the idea of ranting. An endeavour I set out for as well. There need not be merely mindless self-indulgence to what is the art of ranting. Keen observation and channeling of skepticism is a noble cause. I admit I never commented on his blog so as to not cramp his style. The guy is adamant on expressing himself regularly and I have come to respect that.
The Two Indians at The Life and Times of two Indians living in Pakistan. I've grown fond of this blog. I wish I had something praiseworthy to say about the perspective of the authors towards our country that wouldn't sound cliched on my part.
Pudgy Frog at Persnickety Me. I like the observations and the aggression that is mellowed by her personality. I like seeing the frustration I've seen in real life in text. I like seeing a perspective that my best-friend doesn't exhibit so smoothly in real life. Makes me feel awed. From the tea-pot.
5 THINGS THAT WHICH A DINOSAUR DOTH FIND AWESOME:
I LOVE HAVING THE NOVELIZATION TO ONE OF THE BEST STORY ARCS IN COMIC HISTORY.
WHY DOESN'T MY MUSHOOM SAUCE LOOK THAT GOOD? (IT DOES BUT I STILL HAVE ISSUES WITH THE TEXTURE)
THIS DOESN'T COUNT AS A SECOND BOOK BECAUSE TECHNICALLY INFINITE CRISIS IS MORE LIKE A COMPILATION OF HISTORICAL (COMIC) FACTS. THIS HOWEVER IS PERHAPS MY FAVOURITE ROMANTICIZED ESPIONAGE FICTION. IF ONLY ONE WAS 50 DURING THE COLD WAR AND COULD SAY "THOSE WERE THE DAYS".
SOME OF OUR PLEASURES ARE GUILTIER THAN OTHERS
NOSTALGIA ALONE WARRANTS THIS. BUT MMAAAAAAANNNNNN DO I MISS THE GOOD OLD DAYS. TRIBAL DRUMS, AKU AKU, CRYSTALS AND A CATAPULT CHICKEN OR TWO.
I see now that I have more followers, those too of quite a caliber. I shall try my best to maintain a standard that I have set out for.
Like Furree Katt, I too plead work-load and will soon post my promised sentimental thingos....
Its a good day to have chips. Finest indeed.
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
I stumbled upon something awesome, have I not? http://questionablecontent.net/
A web-comic, about an indie-music loving, simple, down-to-earth, guy who lives with his robot PC and his relationship with his unconventional, brooding, attractive and distant roommate.
Marten, is apparently quite the schmuck. His business card says 'office bitch'. He's been stereo-typed as one of the generic non-conformist indie fan-boys. Much humour and satire will be directed towards Punk, Goth, Metal, Emo and Hardcore genres of music and how individuals who follow those lifestyles interact with each other and how pretentious and retarded the whole thing can get.
You must HAVE at least a certain amount of know-how of obscure bands and how their followings operate. Much of the humour is self-deprecatory, as to how silly the principles of all non-conformist sub-culture can be from their dressing, to college loans and general life slaps.
But enough about that stuff which I enjoyed.
Its an amazing comic in my opinion. Its adorable, insightful and so very very genuine.
It starts with Marten meeting Faye. But honestly it progresses into this wave after wave of keen and simple observations about the boy-girl relationship and what not. And it has its moments.
And it has plot.
It has character appreciation...mostly insecurity...but still.
Notice how the graphics get better? The artist admits that he's learning as time goes by. Its quite a treat.
|What? I already said most of the humour is insecurity-based...Its endearing okay?|
May the force be with you as your read them all I hope. Browse backwards by clicking previous, or like me you could start from number 1 which was published in 2003.
Monday, February 14, 2011
Meh, this is not the a rant session but if only I could go on one which would be fulfilling.
I wish I was aspiring for something amazing right now, but I am not. People around me are...
Do you what the Urdu word for inferiority complex is?
'Ehsaas-e- WAIT FOR IT- Qamtari'
I like that word.
My sisters are cat people...
And I desperately want a puppy.
|Cow...Nearly asleep... I like my purple shirt|
After the Literature Festival Sunday before last, we got dragged to a friend of a friend's house.... To see puppies who needed homes.
I have been empty since that day... I have barely some time left in my 2 week deadline to convince my sisters to let me adopt one...I need their support for permission from my parents...
I am tired. Those puppies are so full of life and goodness and will make me very happy.
I got my University books from London and I have not opened the carton properly...The plastic cover is still on.
I am not motivated and have not been for the longest time.
I want to be somewhere arguing about imperialism because that has become the theme of my debates everywhere... It would feel so much more enriching.
I'm gonna go use my shoes to count my blessings.
Friday, February 4, 2011
'Would you care for sugars in your tea?' Hasan said with his outstretched hands holding the kettle.
'Why are you asking me this before pouring the tea?'
'I find the sugar cubes to dissolve faster when the hot liquid falls upon them,' Hasan replied with his usual mannerism affected with sincerity.
Pink Hitler readjusted her posture such that the knife taped under the table was directly above her knee.
Hasan was starting to talk a lot of bullshit. It was usually a sign that he was stalling. She hadn't completely unanticipated this. Pink Hitler had chosen the specific seat at the cafe because with it her back was facing a bus-stop. If indeed a sniper had her in his cross-airs, she would have many opportunities to stab Hasan and disappear while the buses that came in between her and her potential assassin disrupted the line of sight.
'I do not care for sugar. I am instead wondering why the PLO's bag-man is approaching me this far from Cyprus. Isn't that where your territory ends now? King Abdullah should have taught you a stronger lesson.'
'Ah, Frau Hitler. Why must you sprinkle salt on the wounds of our people? We have never been at such odds,' Hasan mock-pleaded.
'I like to anticipate the change of times and the world. If I am to believe that Fatah has limits, then I assure you I will enforce such limits if only to ensure that my perception is not at fault,' was her reply.
'This Cold-War that they call it, it is not yet over Frau Hitler. And we are in the middle of it. Cyprus, nay, Damascus even is too small a concern.'
Legends were made in this dark world that was unseen in plain sight, of hit-men and terrorists. With such words, many were created.
'Your business had better be Kosher. Remember where you are...I am East-Europe...Bitch.'
'Kosher... Ha. You think me such a noob do you not? This honour that you wave around. This disassociation from us anti-semites by an 'anti-imperialist' like yourself?' said Hasan, his words reeking with unprofessional emotions.
'Its principles that make us survive in this business Hasan. You wouldn't understand, because not only are you a noob, you're small-time,' said Pink Hitler before sipping the first of her tea.
'Ha! A noob you may call me (and I'm not admitting that I am one, seriously bring your mother and your laptop) but I see enough of your kind deteriorating around you. How does it feel to know that Carlos the Jackal now hides in Tanzania like a refugee among my muslim cousins? Or better yet, your beloved Castro sent Che Guevara to his death in his last mission...LOL'
Thursday, February 3, 2011
"Quero comprar um galo?"
"No, I do not want to buy a fucking ceramic cockerel!" hissed the Merchant at the street vendor.
The startled man backed up instinctively and the Merchant eased away without a glance. The main street was bustling with people and activity has always been such cover for the shady business that they were about to participate in. Speaking of they, he approached the pebbled pathway to the entrance of the apartment building oozing with Euro-ness. He climbed the stair-case to the third of the four floors in the place. He approached the designated door and removed his fedora before ringing the bell.
"Who is it?"
"Your mother," replied the merchant to the first test.
"Mother...How did you get here?"
"Flew...like a G6....like a G6."
"Who had a little lamb?"
The sounds of chains and bolts being removed were followed by the tiny click of the door being unlocked.
"You are late Merchant," was the greeting given to him by the man standing in the door way. "You should have come earlier." The Merchant's reply sent chills down his spine.
"Thats what she said."
They entered the room where the prisoner was kept.
They had had no form of communication with the blindfolded prisoner of any manner or form. No words were spoken in his presence. He was only made to hear and sense his environment.
Day 1: They entered the room. Doused him in gasoline. Left without a word.
Day 2: They entered the room. Doused him in gasoline. Left without a word.
Day 3: They entered the room. Doused him in gasoline. Left without a word.
Day 4: They entered the room. Doused him in gasoline. Lit a match 5 feet away from the prisoner...Prisoner screamed out everything from diplomatic-cover serial number to under-wear size...(small).
The Merchant walked with ominous steps towards the prisoner, whose ears twitched at the sound.
"Who was it? Who discovered my organization in Glasgow?"
What little colour had returned to the prisoner's face, drained again at an accelerated rate. The Merchant knew this was the time to let the information sink. To let him, the prisoner, know the extent of his own knowledge extracting that which he needed.
"Glasgow. Who knew?"
Prisoner clenched every muscle consciously clench-able before saying the words that would echo images of destruction into their minds' eyes.
"Pink Hitler. It was Pink Hitler!"
|Tyrant. Genius. Spy. These are the chronicles of one child of revolution who shook the clandestine world.|