For the Samurai's, bad guys and being cool

Shinichiro Watanabe. You are my new favourite director.
Samurai Champloo just jumps to the top of my list for 'Animes to revisit when in dire need of entertainment.'

Heart heart heart. 

Penny for your thoughts

You, and you, and you!
Because everyone's opinion means something, holds some value, right?
What if the answer is "Fuck no!" :x

I sometimes feel only qualified people should be in the business of opinion pandering. I realise the paradox of that statement as I type. :D

On a different note, been checking out One Piece. Somehow just not feeling it. I'd thought it would become my new obsession. But seven episodes in, and I am not hooked. Boo. Must round up suggestions from one message board or another.

Crucial life juncture: Where childhood heroes die and complex personas take their place.

Nononononononono..ooohh. 

A new thought, for a new year.

“Whatever you do or dream you can — begin it.
Boldness has genius, power and magic in it”

2016 is heeyah!

Yay!

I am so so so happy to be here. May this year bring loads of happiness and joy to me and everyone I know. :)

Let there be healing, progress and positivity everywhere. :)

The Princess Bride

It was up to her to investigate how the accident had really happened. 

“Ugh”, said the princess, helping herself up from the grass. Her horse had buckled, throwing her off his back, and on to the ground. Her handmaiden quickly scrambled off her own pony and went to attend to the princess. She tried to brush the dust from the princess’s dress and remove the twigs stuck in her hair.

The princess glanced at her reflection in a nearby stream. “No, leave them there. I quite like the way they look.” “Yes, they really frame your face well!” Her handmaiden replied, somewhat snarkily.

The princess narrowed her eyes at the handmaiden, who started to laugh. “Well really Princess”, she grinned at her, “what did you expect me to say?”.

The princess threw a clump of grass the hand maiden. “Fiiiiiine”, she said. “You never let me experiment.”

“Well, of course not. See what you come up with. Now, do you want me to go get your horse back? He seems to have found something quite interesting over there.”

The princess and her hand maiden walked over to where the horse was seemingly pawing at what she could only assume was an abandoned bunch of sheets.

“Mishie! What are you doing? Don’t touch those rags, god knows where they have been”. The princess tried to pull her horse away.

“Hrrrrumph!”, the horse protested. He seemed very dogged about his investigation. He stuck his paw right in the middle of the pile.

“Yeeeeh gads”, squealed the pile.

The princess and the handmaiden jumped back.

“Lords have mercy!”
“Who are you?”
“I could ask you the same question. Why are you bothering me?”
“Bothering you? You just scare…”

“And you could PLEASE do something about your horse? He is poking at my unborn children.”

The princess blushed. She and the handmaiden tried to pull Mishie back.

Slowly the pile of rags took the form of a young man. He extricated himself from the muddle and stood up straight. He was tall and lanky; and looked quite sweet, toused hair and all.

“What are you doing here?”, the handmaiden asked “Don’t you know these woods are only open for the royal family?”

 “I was trying to sleep. And no, I did not know that. That’s a silly rule.”

The princess peered at him, trying not to appear too curious.

“Who are you?”, the lad asked, pointing to the princess.

“I am the daughter of the ruler of these lands.” She drew herself up to her full height.

“Really?” He gazed at her dishevelled clothes and the twigs in her hair. “You don’t look it.” He stated flatly.

His nonchalance, and the suggestion that she looked anything short of impressive irked her.

“Be that as it may, I could have your head at a whim”

“Of course! But you wouldn’t, would you?”, he laughed.

She felt a slight twinge of irritation. Why wasn’t he more respectful and docile? Who did he think he was? Speaking to her like she was a commoner. The audacity! Only her handmaiden was allowed to be so forward, and that too only in private. In public, she too treated her with the deference her position demanded.

“I just might, peasant!” she said, with a slight edge in her voice.

“Well, seeing as how I value my life, I better take your leave!” He picked up his sheets and started to walk away.

The princess called after him “But you never told us, why you were here in the first place!”

He merely waved as he disappeared round the trees.

She ran after him, then stopped behind a tree trunk and watched his receding back, a mixture of eagerness and frustration in her heart.

It was safe to say, she was hooked.

Perspective

I came at you when I was 12,
and you taught me how beautiful thoughts, journeys, ideas and writing can be.
I came at you when I was 25,
and you showed me how wrong I, my ways,and my actions could be.
I came at you when I was 50,
and I understood that flaws, like everyone else, are a part of me.
I came at you when I was 75,
and all I could do, was smile.

Over the hill and on the way!

Wooohoooo!
Personal progress lvl up!

:DDDDD

I am soooo happy today.

Of gorgeous days and awesome weekends!

Out of the blue, there come a small bunch of days which are an absolute delight!
The mornings are cold enough, the conversations are deep enough.
The lighting, while ambient, is inclusive of all.

David Gray croons softly in my ear, and my tea has finished brewing. I feel as if I'm walking on a cloud and I am just so happy. :) :)

Lines

Straight, long, dividing, intersecting, cutting, stopping, looping, enclosing, completing.
It's what they all do.

Inhale, Exhale

As I sit, live, and breathe, verses of Kabir's poems draw me into their mesmerizing simplicity.

"Between the poles of the conscious and the unconscious,
there has the mind made a swing."

I wish there was a way to have a conversation with him, apart from reading him through his verses. I seem to be drawn to all aspects of magical realism; in art, in words and in songs. Kabir, Rumi, Sigur Ros and Shilo; their work always gives me a cumulative mental picture equivalent of a border-less sky with stars looping into infinity.

Was Kabir one of the greatest philosophers of the mystical realms? Or was he just a pot smoker expounding philosophy? 
I guess maybe the two needn't be mutually exclusive. 

Riptide!

Tring!Tring! Tring! I wanna write a song. Something that rhymes and mirrors 'Riptide'. That talks about "The movie that I think you'll like...About this guy who decides to quit his job and heads to New York City." 

It's funny how every other line and every other song makes you zoom right back to some moment, and someone. Teenage fantasies perchance? :)

Boo. I miss you! :( And all I can do is blog about it on a blog with non existent readership, juuuust so I can say it out loud. :| 

Stephen King

“The most important things are the hardest to say. They are the things you get ashamed of, because words diminish them -- words shrink things that seemed limitless when they were in your head to no more than living size when they're brought out. But it's more than that, isn't it? The most important things lie too close to wherever your secret heart is buried, like landmarks to a treasure your enemies would love to steal away. And you may make revelations that cost you dearly only to have people look at you in a funny way, not understanding what you've said at all, or why you thought it was so important that you almost cried while you were saying it. That's the worst, I think. When the secret stays locked within not for want of a teller but for want of an understanding ear.”

This validates why I feel so misunderstood. :D

Addendum

You never have to change anything you got up in the middle of the night to write. I read that somewhere. I also read that there is nothing to writing. You just have to sit at a typewriter and bleed. Hemingway said the latter.
There was no 9Gag then, unfortunately. No cat pics and videos. No free video streaming. No high speed connectivity to the most banal content you can conceive, consume and create.  
In the midst of all that,  I came to two realizations.
I get that sometimes your favourite character must die. And that sometimes you must be the one to kill it.

Old Friends, New Times.

"With a flick of the hair, it can make you  old!"

I think I'm slowly falling in love with Chet Faker. And since it's 3 a.m., the party's over, and everyone's asleep, I should totally have some profound shit to say. I should, but I don't.

Rewiiiind: Nope, nothing memorable happened today. Let's see. Repeats of "No diggity", a bit of browsing, and a whole lot of wardrobe changes. End Scene.

Also, someone suggested turning a story into a manga. Now won't that be something? An Indian origin manga story. *Starry eyed and starts to wish*. 

Someone, please pay me for dreaming my life away! :)

Insightful-ness

“They don’t teach kidnapping at Eton, dad” - Lipstick & Bolsheviks
A book I haven't read (or had even heard of till now), but that quote makes me want to. :D 

Indian Dad Says: "But why not son? I pay good money to that damn school!"

Sway

Listening to No One's Here To Sleep.

Music isn't music until it transports you elsewhere. The beats so sultry, they make you the protagonist in a narcissistic, but oh-so-passionate play. Because hey, peaches and cream, hunky dory and white picket fences don't lend themselves to stories worth remembering. We need an epic, don't we?  

:D

Naughty Boy, you made me wanna write. Who would have thunk it?