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.