I won't be blogging for a while now. I might shift this blog or change it completely, but all that once I clear out stuff that's been waiting for a while.
Feel free to go over old posts.
Thanks for still reading this blog.
Yours Truly.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Saturday, May 16, 2009
Look, Ma, another one!
So this is something I wrote recently. Someone I know inspired it. I know it's not poetic and refined but it is the way I'd like it to be. Shoot me any feedback. Also, I will be blogging about the new Green Day album very soon.
Heart-Trashed Juliet
She throws another bunch of red roses,
Into the crowded dustbin;
Her radio's always on on loud,
It makes her feel like she's thinking;
She adds another, to the pictures
Stuck and nailed to her wall,
Another sickly Romeo disgraced,
With his lavish promises of love.
And Juliet sings another song,
Of all the rights that were so wrong,
Of all the problems that she couldn't solve.
And of all the silly Romeos, none were that tall.
While others fawn, and sing, and weep,
Juliet cracks another metal guitar
And the revolution group that she joined,
The little love song that she shot from afar.
Thoughts of infinity cross her mind,
Of thick, red books and second class wine.
She guzzles outdated Cola to postpone her thirst
She isn't one of the nice girls that always come first.
And Juliet sings another song,
Welding her way through the disillusioned crowd,
Laughing at her own graceless face,
And the lucky, rich men she saw disgraced.
She looks up above from the boulevard,
And she smiles deep, in her mush-trashed heart,
And she sways to her headphones, in a zone, noise-free,
As on her broken heel, she drags her tired feet.
She's a runaway convict, she's the untouchable sea shore
Alone, smirking, she fights her aimless war.
The deadline is coming again, the countdown begins now,
And Juliet shoots another Romeo, singing her pseudo-punk song.
Heart-Trashed Juliet
She throws another bunch of red roses,
Into the crowded dustbin;
Her radio's always on on loud,
It makes her feel like she's thinking;
She adds another, to the pictures
Stuck and nailed to her wall,
Another sickly Romeo disgraced,
With his lavish promises of love.
And Juliet sings another song,
Of all the rights that were so wrong,
Of all the problems that she couldn't solve.
And of all the silly Romeos, none were that tall.
While others fawn, and sing, and weep,
Juliet cracks another metal guitar
And the revolution group that she joined,
The little love song that she shot from afar.
Thoughts of infinity cross her mind,
Of thick, red books and second class wine.
She guzzles outdated Cola to postpone her thirst
She isn't one of the nice girls that always come first.
And Juliet sings another song,
Welding her way through the disillusioned crowd,
Laughing at her own graceless face,
And the lucky, rich men she saw disgraced.
She looks up above from the boulevard,
And she smiles deep, in her mush-trashed heart,
And she sways to her headphones, in a zone, noise-free,
As on her broken heel, she drags her tired feet.
She's a runaway convict, she's the untouchable sea shore
Alone, smirking, she fights her aimless war.
The deadline is coming again, the countdown begins now,
And Juliet shoots another Romeo, singing her pseudo-punk song.
Friday, May 8, 2009
Generic Shithead
She jumps down, glides down, from the skies,
She runs out, into the dark she flies
She's a generic shithead reading between the lines
On an overdose of the good ol' times.
An anthem of a punk rock band,
The drummer with the injured hand,
A broken home, a promised land,
Her crooked smile, her castle of sand,
Shiny pictures of the unknown dream,
The wedding dress with the undone seams,
Invisible tattoos and tree lined streets,
The Generic Shithead, her empire, she breathes.
Glued remains of a teenage, trashed,
Wasted, mocked, her forehead smashed,
Recycled, saved, but never brave,
She thinks again of her golden grave.
The hand she left when she was five,
The loved old pet They left to die,
Empty diaries, broken vials,
The twinkles in the dark night skies,
Dusty medals stocked back to back,
The metal guitar, the running tracks,
Hilly summers and outdated crack,
The Shithead Fortune, she wins all back.
(Title, courtesy Ahana Datta)
She runs out, into the dark she flies
She's a generic shithead reading between the lines
On an overdose of the good ol' times.
An anthem of a punk rock band,
The drummer with the injured hand,
A broken home, a promised land,
Her crooked smile, her castle of sand,
Shiny pictures of the unknown dream,
The wedding dress with the undone seams,
Invisible tattoos and tree lined streets,
The Generic Shithead, her empire, she breathes.
Glued remains of a teenage, trashed,
Wasted, mocked, her forehead smashed,
Recycled, saved, but never brave,
She thinks again of her golden grave.
The hand she left when she was five,
The loved old pet They left to die,
Empty diaries, broken vials,
The twinkles in the dark night skies,
Dusty medals stocked back to back,
The metal guitar, the running tracks,
Hilly summers and outdated crack,
The Shithead Fortune, she wins all back.
(Title, courtesy Ahana Datta)
Sunday, May 3, 2009
Things To Do (Updated. Another break.)
A quick post (I'm currently taking a break from AP). A tiny excerpt from the list of Things To Do that is on my desk right now (Paper and pen is always best for making lists.)
There are way too many. It runs into...yeh, 5 and a half pages. First is the most recent one and then follows.
More to come. Later. Break over.
- Sort Bookmarks
- AP Comp: 1 free response left.
- Specs/Lenses-??
- Call ********62 (I dont even remember why.)
- Note birthdays from Facebook (So I don't wake up in the middle of the night with people asking me if I wished X happy birthday)
- Blog: layout/location?
- Buy canvas
- Get things for cool LED lock
- Spanish
- Paradise Lost
- AP Chem (Solutions and hybridization of orbitals-revise)
- AP Physics free resp
- Econ: Macro!
- Fix clock
- Buy batteries
- New headphones
- Sort bookmarks-urgent (Guess that never happened)
- Sort folder marked X in main folder.
- Finish editing Photo1, b5 and 7
- K570 1st Movement speed is too slow. Fix.
- Blog: layout
- Check mobile bill
- Cut down net usage
- Sleep
- New spike card
- LAN Cable ?
- Find Penn password
- Find UBC password
- Delete spam
- Clean desk
- Edit Chapter 1
- Give Pran the video
- House Season 3
- Call Pallavi back
- Confirm haircut
- Upload/Edit photos
- Finish Chapter ->feedback
- K 570 Second movement
- Quicksort-revise
- Headphones? Repair? Or new
- Sort old college app stuff
- What happened to the LAN cable?
- Cut down SMSes
- Delete junk mail
- Sort gmail inbox
- Hard drive recovery
- Delete spam from mymit post
- Kepler update
- 21st Century Breakdown (prebook? or not)
- Get mayo
- Sort Maiden album-wise
- Decide on essays to recycle
- U of T status email
- Coffee. Urgent.
- Find the Hebrew music video. Aired on IBN.
- Return little Prasad's cupcake mould from Pran/get mercury to return
- Penn tracking
- Spanish?
- Finish video editing
- Shoot-20 minimum.
- Shoes are beginning to die
- UBC reply- change of degree-email.
- McGill-> talk to M
- Mudd email
- Fix net
- New solder
- What happened to Phoenix rover?
- Buy pens!
- 2B pencils. Ruler.
- Locate lens solution
- Tropic Thunder. DevD. Pirates 1. Good Will Hunting. Shopaholic (?)
- Locate 21 dvd
- Track comment
- Sort music
- Sort decision letters
- Encash Oxford voucher
- Find of Being (Crossword) and Feynman Lectures (Where??)
- New Rubik's?
- Solder wire
- Batteries for TI (will need for AP)
- k570 1st Movement Second section.
- Shift to Wordpress?
- Email prof
- Discard ISC books? Ask rents.
- Clean desk
- Sort papers from 12
- Caution money refund form
- email Sonal
- Change blog layout. Too icky. Name?
There are way too many. It runs into...yeh, 5 and a half pages. First is the most recent one and then follows.
More to come. Later. Break over.
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Whatsername
If I could document just one thing, it would be the people I see.
I walk on Marine Drive pretty much every day, sometimes every eight hours. And the people I see give me something new to go back with each time. Every day, I find some picture I want to click, some people I want to go and talk to, and some people that I want to kick into the rough sea. Thing is, all of them are really easy to understand.
Some, are families that come from out of town. You can see their awe as they stare at the shining Trident Hotel, pointing, clicking pictures of the shining chaos of Mumbai. You can tell apart some by their conscious effort in dressing the way they perceive everyone dresses in Bombay: shiny skirts, ten year old girls made-up to look like amateur actresses, flashy jeans, and occasionally, sunglasses. More often than not, you'll find them around the Trident, making sure each member of the family was included in the picture, buying chips from passing vendors, or just staring at the insane amounts of light from the hotel, cars, and streetlights. In some, you see hope; in others, you see ambition, sadness and a desire to one day to be a part of the flashy world they see. Others still, take pictures of the scene of the recent 26/11 terror attack on the smaller, Oberoi towe, pointing out the place "where the terrorists shot everyone".
Some people are regulars at Marine Drive: the uncle in all white, the woman with the big round dot on her head, the yuppie who tries to run despite his belly, the college kid who desperately tries to walk and look pretty at the same time, the old men sitting on foldable chairs near the Trident, the rich guy who no one notices, the botox-ed woman who lives near Firdaus who's probably some fancy socialite, the crazy man who runs in full marathon gear, with old headphones, on the side of the roadthe balding middle aged man who is always on his phone.
There are some new-comers as well, ones who will soon enough become regulars when they realise that a good sunset is probably better than staying at home.
The thing is, with each group of people, you can almost always tell what they're thinking. Some seem to be thinking about work, concentrating at something no one else in the crowd can see. Some just look in awe as millionaires and paupers fraternise on the sea-facing stretch, looking into the same beautiful sunset, away from the lights. Some pretend to not care, and when you look into their eyes, they look away. Some, couples, sit, possibly hiding from their respective societies, eying every person who looks at them with fear. Some people seem to be lost in thought. Some others care more about their phone calls than the person sitting next to them. With some couples , a lot of them evidently married, you can see the lack of any sort of emotion or chemistry as they provide the other with their presence, walking silently.
In some you can see worry and in others still you see happiness. The happy, contented people are rare to be seen and yet they're the ones that people stare at the most.
And then there's me, as I walk, listening to my playlist and thinking about nothing in particular, smiling occasionally as I see the moon or another constellation appearing in the sky.
I walk on Marine Drive pretty much every day, sometimes every eight hours. And the people I see give me something new to go back with each time. Every day, I find some picture I want to click, some people I want to go and talk to, and some people that I want to kick into the rough sea. Thing is, all of them are really easy to understand.
Some, are families that come from out of town. You can see their awe as they stare at the shining Trident Hotel, pointing, clicking pictures of the shining chaos of Mumbai. You can tell apart some by their conscious effort in dressing the way they perceive everyone dresses in Bombay: shiny skirts, ten year old girls made-up to look like amateur actresses, flashy jeans, and occasionally, sunglasses. More often than not, you'll find them around the Trident, making sure each member of the family was included in the picture, buying chips from passing vendors, or just staring at the insane amounts of light from the hotel, cars, and streetlights. In some, you see hope; in others, you see ambition, sadness and a desire to one day to be a part of the flashy world they see. Others still, take pictures of the scene of the recent 26/11 terror attack on the smaller, Oberoi towe, pointing out the place "where the terrorists shot everyone".
Some people are regulars at Marine Drive: the uncle in all white, the woman with the big round dot on her head, the yuppie who tries to run despite his belly, the college kid who desperately tries to walk and look pretty at the same time, the old men sitting on foldable chairs near the Trident, the rich guy who no one notices, the botox-ed woman who lives near Firdaus who's probably some fancy socialite, the crazy man who runs in full marathon gear, with old headphones, on the side of the roadthe balding middle aged man who is always on his phone.
There are some new-comers as well, ones who will soon enough become regulars when they realise that a good sunset is probably better than staying at home.
The thing is, with each group of people, you can almost always tell what they're thinking. Some seem to be thinking about work, concentrating at something no one else in the crowd can see. Some just look in awe as millionaires and paupers fraternise on the sea-facing stretch, looking into the same beautiful sunset, away from the lights. Some pretend to not care, and when you look into their eyes, they look away. Some, couples, sit, possibly hiding from their respective societies, eying every person who looks at them with fear. Some people seem to be lost in thought. Some others care more about their phone calls than the person sitting next to them. With some couples , a lot of them evidently married, you can see the lack of any sort of emotion or chemistry as they provide the other with their presence, walking silently.
In some you can see worry and in others still you see happiness. The happy, contented people are rare to be seen and yet they're the ones that people stare at the most.
And then there's me, as I walk, listening to my playlist and thinking about nothing in particular, smiling occasionally as I see the moon or another constellation appearing in the sky.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Being Human
My mother isn't fond of technology. She says it is because it's not 'human enough'. It seems fake to her, like 'a robot'.
I don't get that. What's wrong with robots? Bots have emotions too. Maybe of a less dramatic kind, but they do.
What makes someone human? Why is a computer less human? Just because it has no emotion? Who ever said emotions make you human?
Are you more human just because you can cry or laugh? Or because you can lie through your face and no one will know, not even your mom? Or because you will make another mistake and 'learn from it'? Or because you know when to say "I love you" and when to say "Oh, I never said that"? Or because you can do pretty much anything and attribute it to being human?
I'd prefer to be a bot. It might be 'less than a human' in some opinions, but at least I won't have to smile at someone I dislike, or say "No. It's fine." to someone who stabs me in the back. I won't have to worry about the fact that not having someone to hold hands with every second of my life classifies me as a 'reject'. I don't mind not having 'emotion'. What good has that ever done to someone?
Think about it. What makes you think you're human?
I don't get that. What's wrong with robots? Bots have emotions too. Maybe of a less dramatic kind, but they do.
What makes someone human? Why is a computer less human? Just because it has no emotion? Who ever said emotions make you human?
Are you more human just because you can cry or laugh? Or because you can lie through your face and no one will know, not even your mom? Or because you will make another mistake and 'learn from it'? Or because you know when to say "I love you" and when to say "Oh, I never said that"? Or because you can do pretty much anything and attribute it to being human?
I'd prefer to be a bot. It might be 'less than a human' in some opinions, but at least I won't have to smile at someone I dislike, or say "No. It's fine." to someone who stabs me in the back. I won't have to worry about the fact that not having someone to hold hands with every second of my life classifies me as a 'reject'. I don't mind not having 'emotion'. What good has that ever done to someone?
Think about it. What makes you think you're human?
Saturday, March 28, 2009
Fluorescent Adolescents.
I saw a curious group of three women today. One was middle aged. One was teen aged. And one was possibly six.
The middle aged woman seemed to be the mother of the two little girls. She was on her MotoRazr, yapping away loudly about something to do with tags. Her coloured, streaked and salon bonded hair swished and her stilettos clacked against the Marine Drive pavement and she wore way too much pink: pink pants, pink nail-polish and pink bag. Of course, her whatever-brand sunglasses were perched at the 'right' place.
The teen girl was also on her cell phone, which looked a lot like an iPhone. She was weirdly skinny, wore pale pink shorts that barely peeped from beneath the white t-shirt that was 10 sizes too big. Like all the girls I see these days, the girl had rolled up her sleeve and tried to tighten the massive t-shirt by squishing it to one side of her barely-there body(I don't get this. Just buy a smaller size!). She wore pink flip-flops, with pink nail polish and some weirdly twisted anklet-thing. Two strands of straight hair were weirdly placed on her face. She clearly did realise that the iPhone could do much much more than call and text but she didn't really care, as she yapped and yapped and yapped, using "like" more times than anyone should. And she never stood straight, like standing straight would give her a diseased appearance.
The smallest girl was also clad in pink. Pink dress, pink shoes, pink clips. But somehow, she looked more sane than the other two. She definitely looked less at her nails and more at the awesome sunset and she even walked faster than the other two. And, I thought she looked lost.
Next to the three, there was me, in a five year old UMM black t-shirt, black shorts, my three year old red socks, and sneakers, staring at the setting sun, clicking pictures with a mobile phone that has been dropped like water.
As the five month old playlist blasted into my ears, I realised it was time to invest in new headphones.
I also felt quite sorry for The Smallest Girl In Pink.
The middle aged woman seemed to be the mother of the two little girls. She was on her MotoRazr, yapping away loudly about something to do with tags. Her coloured, streaked and salon bonded hair swished and her stilettos clacked against the Marine Drive pavement and she wore way too much pink: pink pants, pink nail-polish and pink bag. Of course, her whatever-brand sunglasses were perched at the 'right' place.
The teen girl was also on her cell phone, which looked a lot like an iPhone. She was weirdly skinny, wore pale pink shorts that barely peeped from beneath the white t-shirt that was 10 sizes too big. Like all the girls I see these days, the girl had rolled up her sleeve and tried to tighten the massive t-shirt by squishing it to one side of her barely-there body(I don't get this. Just buy a smaller size!). She wore pink flip-flops, with pink nail polish and some weirdly twisted anklet-thing. Two strands of straight hair were weirdly placed on her face. She clearly did realise that the iPhone could do much much more than call and text but she didn't really care, as she yapped and yapped and yapped, using "like" more times than anyone should. And she never stood straight, like standing straight would give her a diseased appearance.
The smallest girl was also clad in pink. Pink dress, pink shoes, pink clips. But somehow, she looked more sane than the other two. She definitely looked less at her nails and more at the awesome sunset and she even walked faster than the other two. And, I thought she looked lost.
Next to the three, there was me, in a five year old UMM black t-shirt, black shorts, my three year old red socks, and sneakers, staring at the setting sun, clicking pictures with a mobile phone that has been dropped like water.
As the five month old playlist blasted into my ears, I realised it was time to invest in new headphones.
I also felt quite sorry for The Smallest Girl In Pink.
Friday, March 27, 2009
New Things
Life just took a downturn recently. I'm getting waitlisted at every college where I applied for aid, and everything else is pretty much derived from there.
Right now, I really want to get new stuff, like books I haven't read, more books I haven't read, DVDs I want, music CDs I want and the sorts.
I also want to change the name of this blog. It doesn't connect with me anymore. I thought of "The Black Tree". I also want to change the layout and I might shift from blogspot. Maybe this is an attempt to start over or console myself. Suggestions, advice and names for the blog are welcome.
Music I'm currently listening to: Mika. It makes odd sense right now.
Right now, I really want to get new stuff, like books I haven't read, more books I haven't read, DVDs I want, music CDs I want and the sorts.
I also want to change the name of this blog. It doesn't connect with me anymore. I thought of "The Black Tree". I also want to change the layout and I might shift from blogspot. Maybe this is an attempt to start over or console myself. Suggestions, advice and names for the blog are welcome.
Music I'm currently listening to: Mika. It makes odd sense right now.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Broken Window-panes
Which one would you prefer? A broken window pane, or a normal, clean, non reflecting glass? A lot of people would choose the latter, for obvious aesthetic reasons, but I rather like broken window panes.
Why? Because they have more possibilities. With a broken window pane, you can think about what it looked like before, you can speculate on why it broke or even how to fix it. The jagged edges make cool shadows, or it can hurt your finger as you run it over the end, or you can make them by filing the edge. You can shoot nice macro pictures of the edges with your regular camera, you can be reminded of a million things, you can make shapes from irregular ends and you can see split images of the world beyond the window, two perspectives of a same view. You can stick your head out of the window to freak people out, you can cut yourself if you're depressed and you finally won't have to have to have a reason to let the rain in :).
A normal, anti-reflecting window pane is always just that. Transparent. Invisible.
Why? Because they have more possibilities. With a broken window pane, you can think about what it looked like before, you can speculate on why it broke or even how to fix it. The jagged edges make cool shadows, or it can hurt your finger as you run it over the end, or you can make them by filing the edge. You can shoot nice macro pictures of the edges with your regular camera, you can be reminded of a million things, you can make shapes from irregular ends and you can see split images of the world beyond the window, two perspectives of a same view. You can stick your head out of the window to freak people out, you can cut yourself if you're depressed and you finally won't have to have to have a reason to let the rain in :).
A normal, anti-reflecting window pane is always just that. Transparent. Invisible.
Monday, March 2, 2009
Signifying Nothing.
So.
The Boards.
Them.
They're here. Already.
Today was the first, English Language. It was, frankly, awesomely easy, and I was so pleased with my essay that I even gave it an incredibly cliched title: "The 'Virtual World' Versus the 'Real World'--The Choices We Are Forced To Make".
Tomorrow, I have Literature (Macbeth, poetry and a couple of short stories.) I'm hoping either Chekov or Joyce Cary will feature, although my hopes of writing an essay on Coleridge or Eliot will probably be mashed to pulp as they featured in last year's paper.
Next week: Math and Physics (Okay. Too much rote learning for Physics. Waiting for AP Physics to lessen all the pain :D).
The week after?
Heh. NOW we come to the point. On Monday The Sixteenth, I have Chem. Needless to say, It's not a Monday I am particularly looking forward too. What's worse? Well, according to some people, some decisions might come out "Mid March", which is before Monday The Sixteenth. So guess who's screwing up Chem? Like it isn't screwed up enough. No, really. I actually tried liking it. I'm fine with physical chem. I'm okay with thermondynamics because it's cool. I'm even okay with O Chem (Organic) because I figured out how to get the equations, with the exception of ten nasty, long ones. But rote-learning extraction-or-synthesis methods/properties/uses/equations for about twenty metals/non metals/compounds? No wai.
My last exam, on March 19, is Computer Science. It requires precisely seven hours of study. Five, if you do it without any/minimal distractions.
Till the 19th then, I won't be posting. Or maybe I will in the two day break before CompSci.
Till then, stay sane and stay *insert your favourite emotion here*.
Sincerely,
Tree.
The Boards.
Them.
They're here. Already.
Today was the first, English Language. It was, frankly, awesomely easy, and I was so pleased with my essay that I even gave it an incredibly cliched title: "The 'Virtual World' Versus the 'Real World'--The Choices We Are Forced To Make".
Tomorrow, I have Literature (Macbeth, poetry and a couple of short stories.) I'm hoping either Chekov or Joyce Cary will feature, although my hopes of writing an essay on Coleridge or Eliot will probably be mashed to pulp as they featured in last year's paper.
Next week: Math and Physics (Okay. Too much rote learning for Physics. Waiting for AP Physics to lessen all the pain :D).
The week after?
Heh. NOW we come to the point. On Monday The Sixteenth, I have Chem. Needless to say, It's not a Monday I am particularly looking forward too. What's worse? Well, according to some people, some decisions might come out "Mid March", which is before Monday The Sixteenth. So guess who's screwing up Chem? Like it isn't screwed up enough. No, really. I actually tried liking it. I'm fine with physical chem. I'm okay with thermondynamics because it's cool. I'm even okay with O Chem (Organic) because I figured out how to get the equations, with the exception of ten nasty, long ones. But rote-learning extraction-or-synthesis methods/properties/uses/equations for about twenty metals/non metals/compounds? No wai.
My last exam, on March 19, is Computer Science. It requires precisely seven hours of study. Five, if you do it without any/minimal distractions.
Till the 19th then, I won't be posting. Or maybe I will in the two day break before CompSci.
Till then, stay sane and stay *insert your favourite emotion here*.
Sincerely,
Tree.
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