A Rainy Night In Lyndhurst

The beast in me

Is caged by frail and fragile bars

Restless by day

And by night rants and rages at the stars

God help the beast in me

That's the Johnny Cash song that the pilot episode of The Sopranos ends with. An episode that can safely be defined as "packed" and one that I can't take the time off the day from admiring.
While later seasons and episodes do sometimes put the spotlight on characters other than Tony, this one's all about the beast. We see Tony the man, the pussy-whipped son, the archetypal husband, father to his daughter and of course the mobster with a mischievous grin. And again, the man.
You see him sitting there, filling out his therapist's chair that he manages to overflow out of in later seasons, while still looking like sex. One can't help but fall in love with this bear.

He tells his daughter that her great grandfather did not design the church they're in, but he built it. He tells his therapist about his father (who was a saint that ran his own crew!) and Gary Cooper. He tells his friend that it helps to talk. He tells his wife that he is on Prozac. You know by the end of the episode that this is no Michael Corleone. He is going to show & tell everyone who listens what his business (as it applies) is.

And if you were ever wondering, like the pastor does, what Tony thinks of Goodfellas, the answer is somewhere in there. 

We Moved

Future posts here - http://shruti.space/

Job Postings & Wordsmithery

"We work closely together and put in startup hours, so you must be a team player!"


"The perfect candidate will thrive on the prospect of taking on huge challenges and will “move the needle” by driving programs through feats of flawless execution."


"5 Reasons to Work with Us:

No. 1 - Get paid for giving a shit"


"Whatever it takes" attitude and motivation to do whatever necessary to assist in closing a deal"


"Strong problem solving skills, ability to analyze complex multivariate problems and use a systematic approach to gain quick resolution, often under duress"

Lawdy Lawdy, Miz Roz

Diana Ross shows that it's possible to look sexy while eating ribs. 

Tiptoeing Through The Tulips

"I'm writing this thing about a  housewife with a sick child and a window washer"

"What happens?"

"Nothing happens. It's about sexual chemistry. You know, finding a strange man in overalls inside your living quarters, one that scales buildings and all that."

"Why is he in the house? Is he washing the windows from the inside?"

"No, you buttock. She left the balcony door open and he came in to tell her that her apartment will be flooded if she doesn't close it. Things go from there"

"Why doesn't he just fucking close the door himself and complete the job he was hired to do?"

"Because he's Mike and that's what Mike does."

"Okay, okay. So Mikey gets in the house, then what happens?"

"I don't know how to represent their mutual attraction without adding a whole bunch of narrative type of text. Like, the housewife subtly checks out Mikey's wedding ring finger and sees that he has one, but that only makes him more attractive to her. How the fuck do I represent a thing like that in writing?"

"You don't have to be so literal about it. You could, for example, write that she sets down the child that she's carrying in its playpen while she's talking with Mike."

"Okay, so like, sub-consciously she's freeing herself up for a boning"

"Something like that. Or they could talk about something banal, like the drought, but the conversation is awkward"

"Drought as an allegory for a lack of sexy time. How original!"

"Original enough for your hackneyed plot. Maybe video is your medium"

"There is no plot, you dillhole. And yes, maybe video"

Another Quote

"To define a thing is to substitute the definition for the thing itself"

-Georges Braque

The Five Hindrances

Setting: Dining hall of a zen temple.
Players: He, She, Others & the Zen Master

The serious students with shaved heads are conversing about kindness while eating the last of their lentils. Soon they'll march out with their plates & water cups & tea cups. He, as usual, arrives early for whatever is about to happen in the dining hall. If he shows up at all, you can be assured that he'll be on time. He stares at things; thirty minutes pass.

Zen Master: Let's try an exercise today. Pair up.

He & She make eye contact. A silent agreement is reached.

Zen Master: I'll give you a question. One person asks, the other answers in a sentence or two. Keep asking until I bang a gong.

She: You wanna go first?
He: Okay

Zen Master: First question - What do you want?

She: What do you want?
He: To be home
She: What do you want?
He: To eat a burger
She: What do you want?
He: To stop fucking intellectualizing everything. lol j/k
She: What do you want?
He: To be loved

Zen Master: *gong* Reverse! Go!

He: What do you want?
She: To be mindful
He: What do you want?
She: To be connected
He: What do you want?
She: To be healthy. *whispers* I have some health problems
He: What do you want?
She: To ...this is a bit embarrassing...to find the true love for me

Zen Master: *gong* Next question is What stirs up negativity?

She: What stirs up negativity?
He: Watching a grown ass man eat a cheese plate at a fucking cafe' while working
She: What stirs up negativity?
He: The past
She: What stirs up negativity?
He: Being inconsistent

Zen Master: *gong* Reverse!

He: What stirs up negativity?
She: Other people not doing my bidding
He: What stirs up negativity?
She: Next question
He: What stirs up negativity?
She: everything & everybody

Zen Master: *gong* Next question is - What tires you out?

She: What tires you out?
He: Leg day
She: What tires you out?
He: Work
She: What tires you out?
He: People who say "quick question" before asking something.

Zen Master: *gong* Reverse!

He: What tires you out?
She: Seeing old, negative patterns being repeated
He: Hail Hydra
She: Anger. Wha...?
He: What tires you out?
She: The thought of my parents dying

Zen Master: *gong* Next question is - What stirs up doubt?

She: What stirs up doubt?
He: Being inconsistent
She: What stirs up doubt?
He: everything
She: What stirs up doubt?
He: ...

Zen Master: *gong* Reverse!

He: What stirs up doubt?
She: Failure
He: What stirs up doubt?
She: Strangers
He: What stirs up doubt?
She: Being single

Zen Master: That's it. Hope you maggots learned something.

A Fan Letter to Molly

Ms. Schuyler, you are something fierce
I saw you eat two 72 ounce steaks with two baked potatoes and shrimp in 15 minutes
Your 125 pound frame held 9 pounds of cattle
That's 13% of your body weight!
I was a little turned on, a tiny bit repulsed, a little in love, but mostly in awe

You use hands like God meant humans to
Seeing you tear into that steak reminds me of a majestic wild cat feeding frenzy

Your surroundings seem to melt away while you eat

Watching you concentrate reminds me of a Zen monk I used to know

You answer dumb questions about women in competitive eating with a "because I can"

A better feminist icon you are than those pretentious twats who write them monologues

Ms. Molly, here's to your health and a bright future for your incredible gullet.

Sincerely,

An ardent supporter

Yuppie's Incantation

Dear Lady of Perpetual Despair,
Please heed my desperate prayer
I've been waiting 20 minutes in this line to buy heirloom tomatoes
But what if the Fromagerie closes in the meantime?
How can I face my friends without the mozzarella? What will I drizzle oil on?
You maybe a virgin, but my oil is even  more so
Don't let it all go to waste
See that woman at the front of the line, wearing those aviators and last season's Tom's?
Please make her go away hurry it up
Thou art blessed amongst women, but somewhat lacking in perception
When I said "give us this day our daily bread",
I didn't mean the sliced variety. I thought you knew.

The Man Who Wasn't There

Who is it?

Like a day at the beach or an office party
You won't see him come in & sap you of all your energy
Probably born into the House of Medici in a previous life
Out of place, out of his element and out of line in the current one

The Others

A state of fugue is his ball & chain
Why am I here, Where am I going, How do I...
As a man, they say you should know about real estate
He barely manages to find his way home
You understand what it's like to be one of those bastards who trains a majestic grizzly bear for Hollywood

The Wish

Sometimes when he comes close to killing himself or those close to him or after another year has passed
Casually he express a desire to clear the fog
You don't believe it for a moment, but nod along anyway
And sure enough, the movies are eventually paused, the exits forgotten, the tests failed

The Goodbye

I suspect he doesn't need to be told and that he already knows
The present is for losers anyway - the worriers, the plebeians, office goers and such
The Man should have been perched somewhere high in the Rockies or swimming with the salamanders deep in a cave in the Ozarks
Can someone please show him the way?

Lost and Found

In late 2007, I found myself in the middle of a J D Salinger binge. I read 'The Catcher in the Rye', 'Nine Stories', 'Franny and Zooey' and 'Raise High the Roof Beam, Carpenters' back to back and in some cases, twice over. Almost immediately after reading the last sentence in the last book however, I was done with all things Salinger - like shutting off porn once its purpose has been served. The melancholic nature of the books was what drew me to them, but not finding much breadth beyond that, I was repulsed by the uni-dimensional nature of the work - privileged kids going through an early life crisis. I told myself that If I ever made a few million dollars, but for some reason felt the need to walk into traffic, I'd pick up a Salinger again.

I have neither acquired my first million, nor do I particularly wish to die, but I did read 'A Perfect Day for Bananafish' from Nine Stories again yesterday and enjoyed it very much. Although I still think that JDS's works lack variety, what I read has a depth to it that my own words fall short in expressing. My reading list recently has mostly consisted of the non-fiction and stream of consciousness genres, so the simple but striking narrative of 'Perfect Day...' was like a breath of fresh air. Above all however, I love how JDS treats kids.

The profound, muted sadness of a child, be it Sybil or Esme' or Charles, forms the leitmotif of most (all?) of JDS's work. In a time when kids are treated like a fucking cliche', Salinger reminds you to have a heart and show some respect to the newly spawned in your life. His protagonists do not talk down to children, neither do they pander to them. I can't, for example, imagine Seymour pontificating to Sybil, telling her to be nice to animals. He instead finds an elegant way of communicating this to her. Perhaps there's a lesson to be learnt there that could apply to old and young alike, but a tactless word can cause one group more harm than the other.

Steinbeck can write too - link

Dear Diner

Your short order cook looks a little hot under the collar
Most of your waitresses are balding but they divert attention with their long nails and pretty faces
Your menus are laminated and propped up behind the napkin holder
Your offerings have extravagant names - Split Decision, Grand Slam, Freedom Toast, Mickey's Sputnick
I always get the coffee and the eggs
The coffee is as bitter as my mother
The eggs are great - all they need is a generous slathering of something or the other
You are generous with your potatoes and always send some over even when I haven't asked
I thank you for that
From Tulsa to Santa Fe to St. Louis - you are the familiar among the foreign

Wall Climber

Presented below (unedited) are two passages I found in my drafts folder from August 2013.

It kneels on the bamboo floor and arches its back until all the hair is off its face. It then ties what it can gather into a knot high up on the head ... almost near the forehead like. Once done, it rests its palms on the floor. No, that won't do. The palms need to face up. There we are. On all fours, just like God intended.
She starts to spin. The weight is now on the left palm, now on the right knee, onto the right palm and then...yeah. The hair knot comes undone, but that's the whole point. She who spins on the floor with upturned palms, needs loose hair on the face.

All done. Now it's time for Routine #2. Off to the dresser! It likes the candy apple nail color. That's all there is anyway, so what's not to like. By shrewdly observing the manicurist (manicurian?), she has learnt the correct nail color application technique. One stroke to cover the left, one to the right and finally the center. Fuck this, this sucks. It only manages to paint 3 of its nails. Is this a bad time to jerk off? Probably. The last time he saw candy apple stains there, he wasn't thrilled.

The Korean Man

I slip into a pair of old jeans, a black sweater with a hole or two and beige flip flops
The Korean man & I don't need to dress to impress each other
He's too old for that & I'm too young for it
It's time to go see my man, my Korean
It's 5 in the morning as the famous Frisco fog rolls in
I see my own breath as I walk past the cafe, the art supplies store and yet another cafe
They are all closed. They are not mine & I'm not theirs.
But I know that he will be awake, he will be open and he will be expecting
I pass the homeless man on his cardboard bed. He's been asleep since 7:00 pm last evening.
Past the frames of old stolen bicycles and yesterday's trash due for collection
At long last, there it is! The place where we rendezvous when we feel like it.
The bells chime as I cross his threshold
I like to imagine that this happens only for me, but deep down I know that to be false
My eyes take in his repository, his uh...stockpile
The sugary treats, the energy potions and the colorful what nots
I venture deeper inside his lair
He has erected a barricade that I cannot cross
I'm certain it is for others, but all the same, it stops me in my tracks
I stand behind, waiting to catch a glimpse of him
My eyes frantically scan the area for a hint of movement
There he is! He was under the counter the whole time
Oh he knows I've arrived. We exchange wistful glances.
He finally emerges from behind the counter like a snake at the beckoning of its charmer
"Oh hey! Good morning!"
"Good morning! How are you?"
"I'm good. I'm good. Haven't seen you in a while huh?"
"Eyyeah, I'm trying to cut down y'know"
"Ah yes yes. Here you go"
"Six seventy five, right?"
"Yes. Six seventy five"
I give him exactly what he wants
"Here you go"
"Thank you. Have a good day huh?"
"Thank you. You too"
Sometimes there's a Korean lady, but it's not the same.

A Streetcar named Desire - The Movie

Karl Malden’s Mitch first lays eyes upon Vivien Leigh’s Blanche DuBois while in the middle of a poker game and is gently goaded into beginning a conversation about a cigarette case (a silver one at that). His increasingly irritated game buddy urges him to return to the game, in response to which Mitch yells - “Deal me out! I’m speaking with Miss ...uh” and looks to Blanche for help. She reclines, one hand under her chin, the other daintily holding a cigarette, does her best impression of a theremin and replies - “Du bwah”.

And just as easily, I was in love with a character who, among other things is a former prostitute and an implied child molester.

Having watched this film well into the double digit number of times, I've come to the realization that I came for Stanley, but ended up staying for Blanche. Stanley certainly hasn't aged badly, but Blanche gets increasingly mesmerizing with each viewing. There are theories abound about what these two characters are meant to symbolize, but I like to imagine their interplay as a match between the old & the new. Blanche comes from old money, a once eminent family and a background in education, while Stanley has to use his physicality and an army record to defend his immigrant ancestry. Despite the obvious difference in class, if I imagine these two characters in twenty years time, I can see Stanley poring over his retirement plans, spouting a tirade at his son and waiting for the microwave to beep. Blanche on the other hand is on her third mint julep, quoting Whitman’s raunchiest lines, wearing entirely too much makeup and elegantly hitting on the nearest twenty year old. Yes, she does wear powerful shackles which force her to live in a place which she alone inhabits with occasional intrusions from undesirables. The same shackles however make her rise well above the plebeians...she never has and never will feel the need to learn about the Napoleonic code.

Blanche also rarely indulges in self pity in the presence of others. Apart from the one occasion when she bursts into tears in front of Stanley as he hands her a ticket back to Auriol, she keeps her emotions in check. She also does whatever she needs to, to get by - a scalding bath, a drink or three, the rhinestone tiara are all part of her elegant coping mechanism. And whether anyone buys it or not, she is peddling an image of herself as the heroine of her own tale of tragedy, romance and ultimately, redemption.

My preoccupation with the details in this movie have over time made me somewhat indifferent to the ending. There is no denying that it is very poignant and moving and so on, but I find myself zoned out during the last scene when things go south for everyone involved (except Eunice. I think Eunice deserves a movie of her own). I like to think that the heroine of this movie would appreciate the fact that I reach for a bottle of bourbon instead of a box of tissues.

The Hobbyist

No, you cannot stop reading Paz's Sunstone after a couple of paragraphs
Yes, you've got to finish reading his entire repertoire of poems
They were "collected" for a reason y'know
But I dabble, it's what I do
It's what gives me great pleasure
I dabble in people too
She doesn't hold my interest anymore
I got all I could from him
But you've got to have drive!
I mean, you have no ability after all
Hey! You forgot intention!
But how could I ever trust you if you never cross a finish line?
What's the humming bird equivalent of a lycanthrope?
No one ever accused a humming bird of being a dilettante

Stir Often

Desis these days seem to favor a lot of dil (heart) over a little bit of dimaag (brains). Real issues of import  are dealt in a manner similar to how a bollywood hero in a blockbuster might, with song and dance, plenty of theatrics and cliches.

• 'Damini' & 'Nirbhaya' - The pseudo names by which the Indian media refers to the Dec 2012 Delhi rape victim. The girl has been dubbed thus to protect her own 'good name' . The irony of  labeling this woman with words that translate to 'lightning' and 'unafraid' when something as elementary as her actual name needs to be kept hidden is lost on most people. 

• The death penalty for the 4 rapists - People chanting "India wins" & that " India's daughter Damini's soul can finally rest in peace". 

• A white woman complains - and everyone loses their collective minds. 

It's not only the media that resorts to these tactics. Everyday people are also well versed at using metaphors - "You're my sister" (No, I don't have any siblings), "I made this money with blood & sweat" (Good fucking job), "I'll just live like a dog in the corner of this house" (If I were you, I'd pick the one with the diwan)

Less rhetoricie more talkie.

As usual, this is the only voice of reason, it seems.

Walt Whitman

A Woman Waits for Me

A woman waits for me, she contains all, nothing is lacking,
Yet all were lacking if sex were lacking, or if the moisture of the
right man were lacking.

Sex contains all, bodies, souls,
Meanings, proofs, purities, delicacies, results, promulgations,
Songs, commands, health, pride, the maternal mystery, the seminal milk,
All hopes, benefactions, bestowals, all the passions, loves,
beauties, delights of the earth,
All the governments, judges, gods, follow'd persons of the earth,
These are contain'd in sex as parts of itself and justifications of itself.

Without shame the man I like knows and avows the deliciousness of his sex,
Without shame the woman I like knows and avows hers.

Now I will dismiss myself from impassive women,
I will go stay with her who waits for me, and with those women that
are warm-blooded and sufficient for me,
I see that they understand me and do not deny me,
I see that they are worthy of me, I will be the robust husband of
those women.

They are not one jot less than I am,
They are tann'd in the face by shining suns and blowing winds,
Their flesh has the old divine suppleness and strength,
They know how to swim, row, ride, wrestle, shoot, run, strike,
retreat, advance, resist, defend themselves,
They are ultimate in their own right--they are calm, clear,
well-possess'd of themselves.

I draw you close to me, you women,
I cannot let you go, I would do you good,
I am for you, and you are for me, not only for our own sake, but for
others' sakes,
Envelop'd in you sleep greater heroes and bards,
They refuse to awake at the touch of any man but me.

It is I, you women, I make my way,
I am stern, acrid, large, undissuadable, but I love you,
I do not hurt you any more than is necessary for you,
I pour the stuff to start sons and daughters fit for these States, I
press with slow rude muscle,
I brace myself effectually, I listen to no entreaties,
I dare not withdraw till I deposit what has so long accumulated within me.

Through you I drain the pent-up rivers of myself,
In you I wrap a thousand onward years,
On you I graft the grafts of the best-beloved of me and America,
The drops I distil upon you shall grow fierce and athletic girls,
new artists, musicians, and singers,
The babes I beget upon you are to beget babes in their turn,
I shall demand perfect men and women out of my love-spendings,
I shall expect them to interpenetrate with others, as I and you
inter-penetrate now,
I shall count on the fruits of the gushing showers of them, as I
count on the fruits of the gushing showers I give now,
I shall look for loving crops from the birth, life, death,
immortality, I plant so lovingly now.

Signs & Wonders #1 - Microblogging

or Tumblr, for now.

I logged into my Tumblr account that I had created a couple of years ago and found a single audio clip. It was a female voice announcing the "end of the line" from when I used to commute to Mountain View by train. Quasi artsy? Check. Emo twee-dom? Check. But I'm only partly to blame.

The platform itself is designed to be a pseudo creative outlet for people who do not want to put in the effort into forming coherent, original  thoughts and converting that to composition. You can add quotes, share pictures, videos & links. Oh you want to write a couple of paragraphs? Fuck you. I get it, this is where the "micro" in microblogging comes in, but that will also end up being the size of your brain. Designed and maintained for people who'd rather quote Mark Twain than read The Adventures of Tom Sawyer.

I'm not above watching a youtube video of car collisions in Russia, but it at least doesn't pretend to be something it's not - a waste of time.

In trying to expand my mustard sized attention-span thanks to sites like Huf Post, anything on Tumblr, Cracked.com etc., I quit reading all of their content about a year ago. Here's some of what I've been reading lately:
http://byliner.com/spotlights/101-spectacular-nonfiction-stories
http://www.thehindu.com/

Next step - quit news.google.com and find a half-decent american news source.

**Update**
The CEO and founder of Tumblr looks like this:

Now I'm even more certain.

Bald Norma Desmond

-courtesy of Neiman Marcus after-dark