... If rape or arson, poison, or the knife
Has wove no pleasing patterns in the stuff
Of this drab canvas we accept as life—
It is because we are not bold enough!
- Charles Baudelaire
(Roy Campbell's translation)
"a mile or more in a foreign clime, to see farther inside of me" - syd barrett
But I sold my freedom
For free room and board,
Like a monkey in a zoo. - Daniel Johnston

Sunday, November 11, 2007

Life of the modern man ...

Computers, desk space, personal entertainment, some paperwork
and spilt coffee

(as usual: words and pics by him...)

Monday, November 5, 2007

Which one is urs?

Four kinds of life.
Four stages of life.
Four thirsts of life.

Sunday, October 7, 2007

Island lives ...

Thru' this world, Together we surf
Yet prisoners, of our own turf

(pic and words by him...)

Thursday, September 13, 2007

... the joker or the thief

Lives take form,
either of two
u may get to choose or not
which of it is you

Dedicated to Bob Dylan

Monday, July 23, 2007

clouded thought...

...Shadows they are, and shadows they were,
Shadows they would stay, whatever light they share
And, Though the light doesn't show much of space anywhere,
But for myriad little shadows, all the ground is for spare.

- words and pic by him...
(extract from 2004 canon)

I, Us, We ...

Amidst the world of vacuous concrete and wispy sounds,
No more than the shadow we cast onto the ground

(words and pic by him...)

Sunday, July 15, 2007

when u r lost ...

Look around in the void of the night
And let the road tell you which way is right.
(pic and captions by him...)

Sunday, April 22, 2007

spray paint ...

spray paint upon the wall
till light steals away it all
cry laughs of a time bygone
till the air can't carry it on.

Ride through the wild forest shires
through dead leaves and naked fires
Till the day asks for a break
sips a drink up, down the lake

Torch of stone in hands ablaze
The right of wrong in hands betrayed
I have seen it in those eyes
Colored truth over white lies

You murmur your excuse
As i bleed into disuse
Cant even let out an angry shout
the words crumble within my mouth

Leaving out through the door
Walking into my indoor
Looking up with a weary eye
at darkness hitching through the sky

lets out a painful empty roar
the cat caught inbetween my writhen door
With the silver lining on its feet
Fading away with the reigning sleet

Lives like these alike and known
laying in our cozy home
And as the light bleed out of the den
The spray is speaking my words again.


Friday, March 23, 2007

about him...

Who/What is him... ,

him... is a name stopped short of complete expression..... an existence stopped short of complete manifestation... an entity stopped short of its complete individualization. him... is an attempt to capture the glimpse of that which just stopped short of an occurence, the glimpse that was just caught for a moment by the corner of the eye and the likes of which can only be pondered upon by the presence of imagination or the mere lack of it.
In this light Shakespeare's "What's in a name?", can be extended to "What's in a name, or the rather lack of it".

If the imagination is in the eye, then the eye is what is I (and him....) Imagination stopped short of expression, of manifest expression, of formation for I am but my imagination, and the very lack of it... Wht I see is all I am and wht I am is wht i fail to see.

Leonardo da Vinci once said "Art is never finished; only abandoned.". Art is an expression for imagination and its abandonment thereafter, or in other words the lack of it thereafter....

him..... art.... expression..... imagination.... all references to one and the lack of one....

Monday, March 12, 2007

dancing in the moonlight ...

At times I wonder, what is it that a man lurks around for in the silent corner of the enchanted night while the crowd gathers around the burning logs in the revelry of the millenia. What is it that his mute mind whispers to the wind behind his ears as the silhouettes of the forms swinging by the firelight gently morph into shadows of wolves, dancing in harmony to the decadence of the un-dying night.
And why is it that he feels a smile stretch across his cheek while drops of tears stagger down his moist skin like a river cascading down the scars of an abandoned past.
Perhaps, that is why no matter how much we enlighten ourselves we shall be no more wiser than this fool in the corner that is throwing his tear-laden smile at us.

(Photo:courtesy the internet)

Wednesday, February 28, 2007

slipping over the ice.....

(Note: wht follows is fictional matter)

Out in one cold morning I to a walk on the feet
Treading the stepping stones that make up the street
Before me a snow shower has blanketed the show
And ahead there lay a road telling me where to go

So I strode with joy carelessly over the walk
Lest I knew tht I would soon be the street talk
One feet fell confidently over the hard ice
i went slipping through the country with the speed of a mice

I recall my hours spent floating in the moist atmosphere
The sky hung over me and the ground so far below that i didnt even care
But could I remember the landing on shore ?
That memory seems to have slipped away out of the door

Though I do recall spending hours lying in the fields
Wondering about african farmers harvesting their yields
After decades of contemplation a passerby lent me a hand
And Then I began to wonder what I was doing on this hard cold land.

The cold of the ground took much longer to creep
But by then i was cozy in the warmth of my keep
And I still wonder what it felt to slip on the hard ice
when time flew as a slow as a turtle and as fast as a mice.


Thursday, February 22, 2007

the road ahead ...

And on and on we parse and strive,
To farther lands we steer our drive.
And though the sun shall set upon our road,
The moon shall rise to tell the tale untold.

And like the star far and away in the vanishing sky,
A light sparkles in the deep of our eye.
And though the wind blows cold through our heart,
The night cant tell our joy and fear apart.

And as the parakeet perched on the tree lets out a call of an awe,
Under the moonlit sky our path takes a yaw.
And when the moist in the air carries the scent of her smile,
Its time to let reality fade away for a while.

And over the distant mountains where the winds blow high,
Where our dreams take form and where the grounds meet the sky
And up where the voices of the past fail to rise,
It is there my friends that our destiny lies.

-him ...
(dedicated to the dude - quasi ... ;
photo by: him... )

Sunday, February 18, 2007

another day in paradise ...

Morning flutters in through my window
The rays of light creep in through like a mole
The raging screams on the streets outside
Sounding more peaceful than my soul

My eyes open to the world beyond
With a squint i look at the empty wall
Light cascading across its breadth
scattering on its face the colors all.

In the city i take a ride
to shake off the haze in my mind
but the city itself is a desert filled
by the empty footprints of mankind

I look out at the ocean
The dry air's scent awakens the pain
And in the cries of the wild banshees
I hear the echoes of the past again

(words & views by him...)

Monday, February 12, 2007

sing-along-song ...

u close the door once another
thr wasnt anyone knockin', thr never was
just a wind sneekin' past thru',
all u needed was just some imagination and a little cause.

u sing along a sing along song
make urself feel better and not so blue
while u sit crouched in the corner
waitin' for the next song to take u thru'.

Cryin' alone in retrospection
Cryin' alone in a room full of nought
Tryin' to steal urself away
Away from all the thngs tht u 've bought and brought

Thru' ur window u see the day shifts
Thru' the windows u see the people go abt
Colors on the streets changin', seasons passin' by
but still from the broken sound box, the same old sing along song is cryin' out

- him...

Saturday, February 3, 2007

On Solitude" - by him...

Some of us have the tendency of enclosing ourselves in
a capsule of loneliness and "one"-liness.
You too seem to be wrapped around in such type of a
flurry little world of yours. Its probably the best
thing that could happen to you - "A little world". May
be thats why they advertise paradise usually as a
caribbean island - small, isolated, peaceful,
someplace where one can feel alone, and yet surrounded.
Kinda like a world in its own.

And maybe if you do, by some twist of fate, creep out
of that tahiti of yours, and step into the common
world for a while you would find it interesting, and
quite appealing, to plunge into the pool of economic
blabber, sociologic chit chat, and pyrotechnic
mishaps. You try to feel at home in the wild sea of
globalization and worldly communication finally to
realize that you are not at home. And then you race to
catch the sunset ferry back to your little dominion.
In the hassle, you stumble across some long lost
friends and some short cost acquaintances, that you
once had wished to reconcile with, but hell - you
have a ferry to catch. So you hope that maybe they
would all understand and that fate would once again be
generous some other time, and you wave a half frozen,
half roasted good bye to your long past buddies who
appear to be wearing a rather injured look, as you
disappear into the crowd that also seems to be heading for that
very sought-for ferry. Perhaps latter on as you lie in
the comforts of the soft sands that blanket your
little worldly island, you'll question the winds as
to why you had ever thought of getting yourself away from
home into solitude. And hope that, unlike fate, the
wind would be kind enough to whisper to you the
answers of this long asked question.

Anyways, hope the wind does whisper to you and you are
not so pre-occupied or unoccupied that you wouldn't
notice its whispers as they die and fade out in the noise and
cadence of the material world.

Among the very many things one has to do in life, we
sometimes take time out to consider the motions of the
past and trends of the present in an attempt to get a
glimpse of the future. Sometimes we realize that may
be the sail is not set in the right directions and we
make attempts to recourse the flow of events. And it
is during this process of steering your petite boat,
across the ocean against the tide and into the new
direction that you have considered and set for
yourself, that you encounter experiences like never
before, experiences some good, some bad ,and some ugly
but nonetheless all cherishable. It is these
experiences that will define "you" and that'll take
you away from the prosaic self that you once were.

In turn you may also find that you are becoming a
person that you once did not want or expect to be.
But then you were young and unlearned and now you have
grown tall and possibly proud - you were in a
different boat then and in a different boat now. In
any case, the future is determined by the present and
wht you do in it and not by the past and what you had
thought then.
All that you must know is whether you are steering the
boat or the boat is steering you.
And that is the difference between loneliness and

-(September, 2005)
Photo by him... from yohan's cam - Feb,2007