College Library

There's something about university libraries and the bored, paunchy, governement employed librarian with his hindi newspaper sitting in the one of the two airconditioned rooms in the college that is so condusive to making out no?

The Littlest Birds Sing the prettiest Songs

The disjointed, assorted, unsorted, accumulated thoughts over extended period on non blogging post -

I know you've missed me so you'll read it anyway.

There is this man, who helped me with a virus. We both tried to get it off my computer, through several long exhaustive gchats and a lot of patience from his kindly self. It's still on though - in a controlled form. Whenever I plug anything into my computer, a little newfolder.exe pops up. I've stopped deleteing them because they remind me of him and it makes me smile. What tales I'll tell my grandkids yo, kya comedy life hai.

I'm only half a decade late on the laptop uptake. For the past year or so I've had a computer cum study table with a desktop - is it no wonder then that I bombed my exams? Now, my computer's crashed again and this time I didn't lose anything that major except several sets of photographs and I haven't reinstalled mtnl on the desktop yet. There's Mum's spare office latop doing the rounds and I've using that for all internet travels and it's helping me a LOT. Firstly, the luxury of

sitting anywhere, just anywhere! and typing makes me feel so damn fly. And secondly, I'm very big on compartmentalisation, and now that area is just study/work place and it's making quite a lot of difference concentration wise because I just don't sit down there unless I'm gonna hit them books.

There's a certain kind of people who loved to read and maybe write a little only because the world was so awesome and powerful and unfathomable and they needed to channel some of that revelation and now, all they(we) so is watch films and somehow it's getting translated into

photography.

I've noticed something rather interesting about myself - when am I having a good time? What makes me happy? What is fun for me? And it mostly comes down to kicking back with your people, your pals and all the ridiculous pictures we take and the disgusting food we eat.

Did ya know there's a baoli near Connaught Place. It's actually on Kasturba Gandhi Marg and there's something quite awesome about it's ancient steps, it's dignified purpose, just it's very presence in that bustling mad city centre.

Swordfishtrombones

Waited For Nothing

I don't know what has happened to my reading speed. It has slowed down to the pace of a 3 seed file.

It now takes me WEEKS to finish a book, even one that I'm really enjoying, even non-difficult, non-literary ones; and since I've read a total of nil books on philosophy I don't even have that problem.

It's not like I'm doing much else, true I'm more 'physically active' than I've been in the last seven years combined but that shouldn't make too much of a difference non?

Anyway, REALLY liking 'Any Human Heart' by William Boyd, especially the cameo appearance by a variety of writers/artists most of whom I don't recognize - Hemingway, Woolf, Fitzgerald and Joyce all wandering around London and Paris pre-war as of now and it's only page one hundred and something. Man, what a time.

Only six years late but Shantaram has finally been read and also finally discussed someone who found as tedious as I did, but hey read the whole think just because of the sheer force of his back story. More than the book, I'd really like to chat with Roberts, have lots to say, not in the least that he needs to not straigthen his hair. (err..not even going to try to check the tense on that sentence)

When you put the radio on and it's mid-song, exactly at the part you love.

Ideally I'd love to ride them horses and race through the woods with my dogs till my lungs burst. But we live in apartment blocks so fuck it I'm going to gym instead.

Those dumb punk kids will buy anything

~There is such shelter in each other.

I think you would fit nicely. I can see it now, I can feel it. And I'm looking better than I ever did when I was a teenager.

~Then I sit still and think, really think of New York and I think I understood more about it from Ramin Bahrani's two films - Man Push Cart and Chop Shop than any other source. It's so firmly in our psyche, babies will recognise Jesus and the Empire Sate. I had a huge NY poster up in my room for many years, and looking through facebook albums of lucky folks who've been there there's one thing I certainly DON"T want to do - pose in front of the statue of liberty bla bla..That's why there's no longing anymore, I wonder if there ever was. Because I don't want to go there now, as a student, as I am now. I want to go there as someone successful, someone independent. Who can bum it out and live it up. It's an idea of myself really.

What do I want to do now? Well for starters get my Hard Rock Cafe, Delhi (yea baaby) t-shirt, Beijing and Barcelona better get used to a new favourite. I want to drive down the Malabar coast and up the Coromandel Coast - with thousand bucks in my pocket, a tank full of petrol, bandana, sunscreen and camera. But you can't steal photos, you have to win them over. When you're a stranger in their land, they're looking at you, you can't look at them.

I want to win a ticket to a Wimbledon match, I'll go and come back I swear, won't overstay by one hour even.

I want to live out cliches first before I reject them. I don't want to be around eyes that know me. Even a little bit. I want you to think I've been like this always, and even that is not saying much.

I love men of music and men of science. I love women of theatre, their noserings and smoke blacked purple lips. Their veneer, their lack of inhibition. I love men who pick up their baabies and hold them and look their kids in the eye. Who write computer codes and run the world from college dorms. I love a lady with a hat. That's just too damn ninja.

O-bla-di-bla-da

Young fathers really do it for me. Especially if they wear aviators and drive Maruti 800s and wear blue jeans and black t-shirts with an ever so slight paunch. Always a little bored, a little late, a little credulous. Tempestuous affair here I come.

Yes, I do know time and other things have happened. STILL.

Need to be next to you

~ The day I'll buy a string of pearls and the places I'll wear them and who I'll be then - who'll love me, what I'll be reading. I'll be wearing sarees, carrying folders and a bun maybe, heels definitely and have a student stalker who joins me for evening walks on campus.

~ Bling Balis, maybe diamonds, maybe with something written across them and I'll fit right in with the Honslow crowd - noon rave parties in basements et all.

~ And the time I start wearing hats, and loose vests, long threads across my neck, silver chains and carry a jute bag. Chappals and sand. Ocean breeze salty.

~Dungarees, preferably shorts with that dungaree flap, bandanas and shell earrings. Red beads for a red undervest and blue stones for a blue top. Chai just tastes better in the mountains.

I have too many pretty things, which I love.

The last thing on earth I want to do is go shopping for office wear.

The first 27 seconds of High and Dry

There is this boy. Man even, he must be 26 atleast. The first - first memory I have of him is him crying. We had gone on a holiday to Munnar, this place somewhere is south India, very beautiful etc. etc. and we were travelling in our brown Maruti Van. The children (me, this fellow, his brother) were put into the dicki (sister was in Mums lap.) We stopped for a picnic meal and went into the jhadi to pee etc. When we came back there were leeches on the soles of our feet, those slimy mofos got in THROUGH our shoes. Everyone was freaking out, and I remember very clearly, these two howling at the back. I was fascinated by these black crawling creatures and picked them off their feet. That was one.

His name is Tiku, I don't even know his real name - we all had nicknames, Tiku, Mishi, Campu, Trinka, Inu, Manna, Timbo, Shashu, Minnie, Tinnie etc. Recently Campu got married and when the wedding card came, Dad was like - who is this Aashti? Oh Campu? Yes, her only.

We lived in the same colony several times, but the last time, he stayed below, and I don't know how exactly - meeting here and there, once in awhile, we became friends. Needless to say we bonded big time over the gods playing guitar. He said he'd burn a couple of CDs for me, and I never thought much about it, when one day at around 10p.m. - I was in my room? or in the loo? and he rang the bell and someone answered and he left RATM, The Joshua Tree, The Beatles, Radiohead and Nirvana Discography et all on the dining table. Till today, after several heartbreaking hard drive crashes with total and complete music collection loss, I still have these CDs and boot up from them.

There was also a girl, and I could see everything from above, our terrace. He had a little white Maruti 800, and he's reverse with a swerve and zoom off - now this was the time I didn't know how to drive and I was utterly jealous, of the freedom, the erotic pleasure to just get in and drive and drive, anywhere, everywhere. Especially when we had to go for these parties, with Mom and Dad and stay the whole boring time, but he’s come later, as late as possible, just before the food was being served, eat and leave. Anyway, one day he brought a girl back. She was wearing a full length skirt and had sort of wavy longish hair that was left open. The house was locked, he knew that I think, because he went straight back to the servant quarters to get the key from the maid. I saw them go in, come out, get into the car and drive off again. All this I'm remembering now, I didn't even know I had this memory. He’s not that kind of a guy though, damn sharif, really, not at all what you’re thinking, but obviously this registered in my subconscious.

Technically, his brother (Mishi) and I are supposed to be friends, because we're born the same year, gave our boards together and all that, but maybe it's just me but I do not like him. He's plump and thinks he's damn funny and is always, always on the phone/messaging a different girl.

When we went to their place for dinner once, he coolly put alcohol into all our soft drinks. I love how rum can be colourless.

Then we were at this Sangeet, Aashti's only, and it COMPLETELY slipped my mind that he'd be there. So I was lurking behind the bar, trying to stay as far away from the Mehndi person as possible, smiling in what I hope was a pleasant manner, because I wasn't trying to be stuck up honest! He sees me first, he's wearing a corduroy jacket and he does this turn and goes, Oh hello, and I'm like HI! I'm so glad to see you kinda hi, and he said you're looking very pretty, and I dunno, people don't say that very often, so I was like oh, er..ok, thankyou. It was nice, we chatted, I stayed for just like half an hour (because now I'm the ninja who can leave early huzzah!) but I had a good time, was smiley the whole way back.

We once had this conversation about New York. I know we say these cities names over and over again, dreaming, wishing, fantasizing, until they have no meaning anymore, but he was talking about it and saying “I’d really like to go there - from what I've read and heard, for me, it’d be the ultimate.” As ridiculous as this may sound, I really believe him. Because he's a doctor now, and really not the reading type, and I really want to know, what exactly makes him want to go there, and which is the first place he’d visit. I don’t have to think too hard, it’s obviously music related. That much I know.

I have this conviction, it's so real I can't explain it, that I'm walking down this NY street and bump into him and it’s getting to be late evening and we’re both kind of free and we go to this roc nrolla, nyc band playing hub kinda bar. Who knows where that night will take us. It just seems so perfect, I almost don't want to meet him before that.

I know it will happen. I just do. Maybe I've overdosed on the One Hundred Years of Solitude - butterflies following a man, children born with pigtails, and dead people traffic.

Maybe, but it will happen.

Dil pe maat le yaar

Just like that. I know exactly who's sitting beside me also. Bliss.

A vampire or a victim, depends on who's around.

What if all this is not just something that needs to be squashed but a symptom? I owe it to myself, to myself, and I say it again and again till it means nothing.

Pamuk -

In 1970, when I was eighteen, I—like all Turkish children with an interest in books—took to writing poetry. I was painting and studying architecture but the pleasure I took from both was fading away; by night I would smoke cigarettes and write poetry, which I hid from everyone.

Read the rest that causes such restlessness.

Apna Gabo Marquez -

Like many great writers attending college for a subject they despised, García Márquez found that he had absolutely no interest in his studies, and he became something of a consummate slacker. He began to skip classes and neglect both his studies and himself, electing to wander around Bogotá and ride the streetcars, reading poetry instead of law. He ate in cheap cafés, smoked cigarettes, and associated with all the usual suspects: literate socialists, starving artists, and budding journalists.

Makes me laugh.

Well, it's been ten years and maybe more since I first set eyes on you.

Some days I love forums and databases and lists. The fact that I have one dress and unused heels. That people on different continents wish me happy birthday and I teach them how to pronounce one of my several names. Reading on pavements and writing poems in my car - I like that I am that person regardless of whether it amounts to anything or not. Impromptu movies with feet up in lazy boy armchairs - how decadently it pans out for me. I don’t know what PMS is but if it gives me uninterrupted sleep and the license to read in bed the whole day - hell, I’ll take it. I love that Heartbreaker makes me so happy, that blasting music in the morning while having coffee is now routine, albeit morning being 1 p.m. and to think that life will simply carry on this way.

I want to wake up to subterranean sounds, to dew and lawns and a river rumble in the distance. The sharpness, the crispness of a morning that a bungalow invites in. I want to be bored and well dressed and have suitors and bookshelves. I want Buddy to be able to have a bath in the back lawns and run and run till he has a stitch in his side. I want to have a people moving in and out kinda house. Where we sit at the dining table long after lunch with beer, in the afternoon sunshine, talking, dreaming, smoking, drifting - and we retire to write, or have sex, or work or whatever takes our fancy and let the evening take its course.

Sadness, Look how She dances.

I know, I know - no blog post for awhile and then of all the painful things in the world, a poem. All I want from you though is a> Uff, I can't be bothered to read, skim, scroll, close window. b> Eyes swim but actually read and realise it's a weak, fuck all piece with no backbone.

Just one over the other would suffice, just so I know. Please. Because it has been so long I can't understand my words anymore. Also, any title suggestions?




They all talk of it, Borges, Kundera, my heart,
The yearning for other places; mountain monasteries, riversides cafes
It fills up the day, inventing companions, travels, homes, children, interviews.

Sadness is bookmarked all over;
In polite waiters and Late Night Radio
People in uniform waiting at the bus stop with their tiffins.

In a disappointing subject, oh how the prospectus lied.
This city doesn’t enchant anymore, doesn’t inspire poems or elegies.
I’m tired of its universities and tombs, its markets and roads, its police and parking lots.

Sadness is in evening garb bought during the day,
In changing rooms with loud sexual music, thick drapes and flimsy party wear
I don't want to corset my jelly belly, I’d pick pajamas and my audioslave t-shirt for you to fall in love with.

I want to retreat from life for awhile
Go back to perfect pictures of European streets in National Geographic
Longing can be sustained more than hotel towels and air sickness and disappointment.

Sadness is in matching earrings, in sleeveless sari blouses
Summer smells in the midst of synthetic woolens, AC vents in a crowded place
No one to notice everyday secrets, Shampoo smells, timetables made and Band-Aid cuts.

Restlessness; I keep asking obvious questions
They answer in baroque, in hard bound bookshelf glory
But its never the one I’m looking for, I’m back to square one o one.

Sadness is in protesters lined up, tired, excited; not unlike a picnic
Weathered flags and sweaty headbands, couldn’t quite catch what the banners read
I looked in the papers the next day, why all that energy, that production, all it said was Traffic Jam.

And I pass by, I pass by. Never knowing exactly what,
Only vague noises at the back of my head, What could be important enough?
How could I not be?

Lesson Learnt

People, how do you protect your pictures? I knew this was going to happen..there was something completely absurd about those hundreds and thousands and lakhs of pictures out there on facebook and the ease with which I could copy anyone's picture onto my harddrive was a bit disturbing and still is.

Incident - album of postcards, not my pictures per se, but that Seriously Awesome series if you remember. Some cow in my class has her status update as her blogpost, so I clicked on it and imagine my surpirse, when there were MY pictures, up there. To be fair, she didn't say she's taken them, it was about how she wants a camera and wants to take pictures like that(would be smug if I wasn't so cheesed off.) Fair enough, but there was absolutey no link back to my page, or creditaion to me and it hit me somehwere in my gut and I went do I even have a right over those pictures anymore? What good is 'owning' them if they'vwe been saved several times over and passed off as other people's own? Ofcourse I called her and told her to take them down ASAP but it's besides the point no?

Let me give my my photo history, as a kid, growing up right through my teenage years I used to absolutely hate, detest, abhor bieng photographed. Maybe I was shy or didn't photograph well or had weight issues or whatever, but most of the snaps are of half my face, my hands covering my face and other such cranky poses. Then round about the time I turned 17 we got a digital camera, and since then, I've been chronicling - family shindigs and the rest, and off late my amateur photography has taken off, in the sense that there are albums and albums or blurry pictures of puddles and birds etc..you get the idea?

Now the thing is, over the past year or so I've been having quite a ball. Just generally, I'm happy wiith who I am and my day to day etc and I think that has a big deal to do with my willingness to pose for snaps now. It really is true the whole, "feel good inside look better on the outside." Even then, it's mostly me taking pictures of everyone else, and I collect them and every couple of months I'll put up an album of say 40 pictures with maybe 2-3 of me.

But now I'm pissed off. It's a primordial thing, to protect oneself, hence I relish the anonymity of the blog. yet, how do I protect the content on this too? On one level, I tell myself not to be so self important, no one's going to borther, but evidently that's doesn't happen not because I'm super interesting but because people are bored and have WAY to much time to spend online, myself included. Pictures DO speak a thousand words, and I've been quietly deleting those albums barring a few.

Am I paranoid? I think not. Becasue I never really took to facebook anyway. It was always a voyeur thing, and only very occassionally a keep-in-touch thing which I'm not that hung over anyway because the people I want to be in touch with I am.

So creative commons I get, but what difference does putting that c on the corner make?The damage would already be done right?

Hey kids, do you like Violence?

Woman Buying Bindis (above) and Pail of Water (below)






Humayuns Tomb, the ever eternal




Isa Khan's Tomb








Little low on the blog posts right now, just been sporadic notebook entries ("Remember what happened today." which makes me go ??!!), it has been awesome, awesome weather and I even love driving again; with the window down and my own music and an endless supply of chewing gum in the car.

Above are a couple of photos, I lust to know what you think.

Paper Planes

Hello children, as I type this I stare out into a vast expanse of poppy fields with the sun blazing a goodbye in the twilight sky. Nah, it's just a park, a very staid one that one. We have been shifting, shifting, moving, moving, again, again, oh so overrated. this is new place is a bunch of apartment blocks, and I is on the sixth floor. The house is much, smaller than the earlier one but it's closer to my grandparents and now as I'm having chicken sandwiches and cake (the leftovers of Nani's kitty) I think it is absolutely in the affirmative worth the move.

So I have been very nirvana and zen like without the internet for almost a week. It felt quite good actually. First couple of days I was completely knocked out with moving boxes around, and for the rest I even opened my course books - miracles never cease! I feel most accomplished with my adam skills though, because with the the phone, I changed subcription and mailing adresses, got the worldspace and internet guy over and basically did all the chasing and running around by.my.self. - but let me tell you wifi is so overrated, and it eats into your speed; it's not that you get the same speed on all the computers, it's the total split up between the comps - gah! and since I still have a desktop it makes no difference to me whatsoever, except maybe the connection is slower on the whole.

Also, I have to tell you about a very momentous discovery in my life called tandoori moms - ohhohoho, why have a momo when you can have a tandoori momo? It's freaking brilliant dude! They serve it with green chutney and it looks like chicken tikka - but it's not! it's a momo that's been put in th tandoor and has that fake red colour thing on it, and it tastes like both - only better! (tpp many exclamations but forgive) Place is QDs, tacky, cheap, very Kamla Nagar - try it, you MUST.

More later. Have SO many blog drafts.

I was gonna take pictures and show you my room..if I could just find the damn camera now..

That's my doggie

Continuing with the series..

Excuse me, I need to see a man about a horse.

Boys and the girls, ladies and my gentleman, I’ve been trying to cut the chord since october, wanting to shut down this little corner of the internet down, sayonara blog buddies etc. I want to withdraw the pieces of my life from the world. Do you get those feelings too? I want to delete my facebook account, and my email id, I want to fall out of touch with people. I don't give a fuck how many pictures you can take holding the camera out with your arm, it doesn’t make me jealous, or envious, I just. don't care, and I don't want it to be an option, I want out. I hate people knowing things about me. But me? I want to know everything about them. I ask the most personal, the most intrusive questions, I want to know everything that's not my business. Point in case, when I know two people are dating, I go read their wall-to-wall.

Since I can't think of much to write in way of a blog post, going to give you some of the what’s spinning right now type of things -

I have a new obsession, a very bourgeoisie one, of cans. I love them, especially the thumbs up, nescafe and other weird juice ones, which have Air/Water listed as one of their ingredients. And straws. Constant sippage.

I is listening to When Life Gives You Lemons You Paint That Shit Gold - Atmosphere, I is rock as true as the rock rolls, but experimenting none the less, little by little, on recommendations mostly. We are moving house again, and yet again my dusty cassette collection has no home, being shuffled from my car to the store room, and I decided today that I’m never going to give it up. Too many teenage type memories. I gave away all my MAD magazines the last time we moved and that shite didn't go down with me. It really depends on what you want in your home, and maybe flimsy black reel is my vinyl.

Been watching Californication. First I loved it, then I hated it - because

• it was nowhere as smart as they made it out to be,
• way to many titties on display,
• increasingly fanciful, ladies just present themselves to Hank boy and he never seeks any of em out
• and making writing out to be so glamourous and shite, all bullshit

It is misogynistic, and the fact that David Duchonvy is in therapy for Sex Addiction makes all the very graphic sex on the show seem a bit more perverse than it would normally, and the jokes are on the women, like entourage (which is unwatchable now) and no man who calls himself a gentleman is one, that should give you a clue but the cast is way too damn good, and they have some insane dialogue inbetween that rockstar fluff.

I love how they talk, like add 'the' before everyone’s name, and ‘itude’ where it doesn't belong..


Anywho, I'm enjoying my post exam couple of days of freedom, though I'm doing pretty much the same shite.

Reading On Beauty - Zadie Smith, long long time coming..and I was honestly surprised by the beginning, was expecting something much much more. Just 100 pages in though, and the author picture is soo hauntingly beautiful and sad and v neck black top with collar bones, what’s not to love? Don't stay tuned, I never follow up.

And now I is off to watch that Benjamin Button bonanza, please go watch Slumdog in a theatre and FORM YOUR OWN OPINION. That will help you get through the fucking press machine flipping out and as always totally losing it’s head.

Word,
That's all for tonight.

Pining in a moment of weakness

Archive Mood

Hello children, how goes.

See I is in a benevolent, filled with goodness mood today, maybe it's the latent holiday spirit kicking in; am technically on prep leave, but these are the best days honestly, it's when everything is heightened and you're on your own, on your own, yet you're not.

I love waking up late morning, mid afternoon even, and having late lunch with coffee and opening up my windows and letting the cold still air enter. read the papers(subscribe to 3 plus 2 online - it's awesome, and you begin to recognise good jounalism and the bullshit paid for news for the other stuff), baked some cookies(the first time in this house, and we couldn't find those blender things, the curly ones? which you plug into the blender..so they had sugar grains clearly sticking out, almost like they were diseased or something but taste yummilicious) Then I chatted with twin while her date kept her waiting. Right now I have started reading so many books at the same time it is really getting too much, plus based on my mood I want to re-read, right now it's The God of Small Things though this particular cover-to-cover reread might just be the last, because it's been growing in me, and I for one can't wait for more fiction from this extraordinary writer.

I also have this really pretty diary/notebook. Usually I use only spiral bound ones, with paper size A5, but this is a nice hard bound nightingale one, with gold tinting, and I have reynold pens in 5 colours - green, red, blue, black and pink, and somehow writing with ball pen makes it seem more copious (size of content wise) when it really isn't. I've already reached the february part.

Also, I dont' know what it is, but something's in the air, afternoon chats at the dining table, warm coffee, clean nice smelling sweaters, swishy hair and pretty eyes, make me feel like anything's possible in the world, and all those dreams will come true and it'll all. work. out.

For example, I want to listen to Under Pressure (Queen feat. Bowie version) as opposed Somebody to Love, both capture a mood don't you think?

Something New

This is a little side project I've been working, and I shall attempt to put a picture up once every 3-4 days; feedback will be most appreciated, especially if it makes you go..er..what's it supposed to be? etc etc.

Please do let me know if I'll be starving to death.

Exhibit#1

Don't be alarmed.




PS - the tag is mildly ironic. er..or not.

Tangerine, I was her love, she was my queen

EDIT:: spoilt brat alert, all is back to peachy. no harm, no foul. *grins sheepishly*

It's days like this, that bring up all the fuckedupness in me, I forget, I've forgotten actually how shitty life was, how low I can sink, how horrible I let my days get, and its all coming back to me tonight. It's the kind of day when nothing works. Forget hitting the books and getting some studying done, its ok to have slacker days, but I'm reading The Joke and it's blowing my mind because I love Kundera but I can't even do that properly, the red nail polish on my fingers is distracting, I'm not used to wearing any kind of nail paint. I fucking hate getting up post noon, I like my mornings, but I just can not sleep at night, why why why. It's a day when you feels fat and though your hair is clean its clingy and looks like its sticking to your head about to fall off any minute. It's the day when all the fucking light bulb fuse simultaneously - of the loo, the bedroom and the bedside lamp. And laziness and crankiness. and guilt, because I canceled plans with my grandparents, and I feel horrible and want to take it back and probably will. and I'm tired of this home and not being sure and being nineteen and stuck, and I have a plan, I have a plan but I want to fuck that too tonight. I want to talk to someone, share and it can't work somehow, it's years of bad karma, of appearing offline and saying brb and gtg when I don't have to go anywhere, no one is online, no one will chat.

And even chocolate isn't helping. My fucking teeth and screwed, I can't even chew gum, it all blows up simultaneously. I got myself some chips and coke and was watching Milk in the afternoon, but even that didn't cheer me up. My privilege is pissing me off, I don't even have a real problem.

Excuse me it's just that kind of day.

Usually I love the literary world, last night, I was jumping from one article to another, I couldn't get enough of Saligner 90th birthday tributes, and Joyce Maynard who he lived with but who now lives in Guatemala, and Susan Sontag and so on and so forth, and that world draws me in, and I love reading smart critiques and i love xkcd and a asofterworld, and there's not enough time and the world is so big and expanding and then today happens and while we're at it fuck Israel.

so what do I want? right this moment, as exactly who I am, if alladin appeared, surprise surprise, grant you your wish - right here right now:


1. To go to Sundance film festival - freeze, watch as many (new) films possible, blog about it, wear uggs, the whole shindig.

2. Book myself on the next flight to London and live with my sister, while she goes off to work, walk around, go to all the free places/museums and then go out drinking with her at night.

3. How nice it would be, if I could go just 24 hours, just a day without having to talk to my parents, give them tabs on where I am, what I'm doing, to go out into the city, wander, drive around, do what I want and not be responsible for anyone except myself and not have to account for anything or talk to anyone I don't want to. (will I go to hell for this?)

4. Was at the dentists a couple of days back and he gave me two shots of anesthesia, my lips were numb for hours, weird and wobbly and I was wondering what it would be like to kiss someone with those lips, would've liked to try it out.