Incidence

Who looks straight through but cannot see,
Who looks at me and looks like me.
Who never blinks till I permit,
Who does exist but can never be.

written in one of my more existential moments right after a hot shower that fogged up the mirror.. 

Moon river and me..

Watched Breakfast at Tiffany's for about the millionth time today.. Its still brilliant.. and the following still remains my favorite bit.. and for any unfortunate slobs who haven't seen the movie, you're really missing something.. Audrey Hepburn is nothing short of a vision.. 

Holly, I'm in love with you.

So what?

So what? So plenty! I love you. You belong to me.

No. People don’t belong to people.

Of course they do.

I'll never let anyone put me in a cage!

I don't want to put you in a cage, I wanna love you.

Same thing!

No it's not, Holly--

I'm not Holly! I'm not Lulu Mae either. I don't know who I am. I'm like Cat here. We're a couple of no-name slobs. We belong to nobody, and nobody belongs to us. We don't even belong to each other.

You know what's wrong with you, Miss Whoever-you-are? You're chicken, you've got no guts. You're afraid to stick out your chin and say, "Okay, life's a fact, people do fall in love, people do belong to each other, because that's the only chance anybody's got for real happiness." You call yourself a free spirit, a "wild thing," and you're terrified somebody's gonna stick you in a cage. Well baby, you're already in that cage. You built it yourself. And it's not bounded in the west by Tulip, Texas, or in the east by Somali-land. It's wherever you go. Because no matter where you run, you just end up running into yourself.

The Infantryman

In memory of the man who personified grit. Here's to the eternal soldier.
When it was victory, 
the cavalier claimed it outright, 
the gunner boasted of his calibre, 
the engineer and signalman publicised their worth, 
but the infantryman stood silent with victory at his feet.

Dreams (courtesy xkcd)

Insomnia..

I dreamed of you last night.
of a lingering, hopeless wait.
with hours spinning across the clockface
and pages peeling off my calender

I dreamed of you last night
of all the things you are,
of everything that brings you closer,
everyday, and makes me smile.
Though not without that twinge.
Of newsprint and night,
and musical abandon.

I dreamed of you last night.

of a lingering, hopeless wait.

that is now a part of me.

He either fears his fate too much, 
Or his deserts are small, 

That puts it not unto the touch. 

To win or lose it all.
Days until redemption - 73.

O Happy Dagger..

Two very diverse and frankly conflicting influences led to his particular train of though.. which led to this post.. Its also led me to seriously question something i very firmly believe in.. the concept of a "Happily ever after"..
The first is an observation that I made during a conversation about the afore mentioned concept with a certain fellow victim of the down-on-your-luck-in-love syndrome.. every single story of great love from literature that i've ever enjoyed, never runs its course.. its always a wild and passionate love that survives despite the lovers not ending up together for one reason or another.. one of the following always happens..

- One of them is killed by an accident/terminal illness, while the other holds their hand in the final moment in the hospital.

- They realise that they cannot be together in life so kill themselves so they can be together in death.

- Or (and this one's my favorite) the great sacrifice.. when one of them pushes the other out of the way of a stray bullet/speeding automobile, and dies in the other's arms with a final "I love you".

The other point, ruminating on the first one while we discuss this ofcourse, comes from a certain high-grossing-giant-special-effects-hollywood-extravaganza kinda film that i rather enjoyed. The hero.. no villain.. no hero.. well its unclear what he really is, makes a statement towards the end of the movie.. "You either die a hero, or live long enough to see yourself become the villain"..

while this is not a direct reference to the theme brought up by Point One, one can draw a parallel.. which brings me to the conclusion that planted the seed of doubt in my firm fairytale fancies.. What if all great love is doomed to an extremely short shelf life? What if the only kind of love that really survives in the long run is the average, mediocre kind? but most importantly.. what do you do when the great, all consuming love just doesn't seem enough?

O true apothecary! Thy drugs are quick.
Thus with a kiss I die.

Romeo had it easy..

The Bradley Cooper Project : v 2.1

Courtesy The Wanderer
First week of gym over.. typing with very stiff arms.. has been a week of self discovery :

- Can still run 5 kms.. not jog.. run.. :)
- Pushups.. 3 sets of 15.. way harder than it sounds..
- my instructor is a year younger than me.. taller by a few inches and looks like a fucking Adonis.. and looks incredulous everytime i stuggle with the weight.. I am going to kill him..
- ideal time for workout.. early morning.. its when the office crowd works out, so people around are in worse shape than you.. helps your ego when you cant finish the 5th pull up to watch somebody struggling on the treadmill after half a km..

More later.. must fall down and die for a bit..