The Sanctum

Welcome, traveller. This be the realm of Jay Niner, where everything be possible, and nothing ever happens. If, perchance, thou wisheth to tarry, then find thou a page from the Grimoire and read. For we are here in eternity, and we are in medias res.


Absolute Nonsense Part 1: Smoke.

The Smoker's Prayer:
"Smoking does kill"
They say, and "deliver it will
To you an early death;
And the last smoke will be your last breath."

Well, fuck them, I believe in my smoke
I believe in it much more than my two-thousand rupee coke.
That, famously came in a shoe-polish box. And those who don't agree can choke
Or in a red, violent, chaotic bloodbath soak.

Because I'm not alone in this whole wide world with all its smokers who like to smoke on and on and on.
But the age of arguements is not yet gone.
So, "Thank you for smoking," I say.
To those who light another, not yet done is your day.
Until the anti-smokers are completely silenced will we continue
So that they'll finally shut up and then the cig companies sue.

But that day is long in the coming.
And in my pocket my cig-box keeps drumming.
Draw another, it says evilly, and rot to your core.
Ha ha ha, I laugh just as evilly, and draw one more.

Smokers reunite!
Smoking our birthright,
Find someone who doesn't, it's a sight!
And offer them one in the night.
Where no one else will see,
So that they will another smoker be.
And go on with a satisfied laugh, he he he.
For you have paved the way to progress.
And all your past sins are in the shadow by your latest transgress.
And when Satan comes laughing in his glory,
God will say, well, didn't I tell you the dead smoker's story,
We'll say screw you both, give us some space.
And fellow smokers, pick up your pace.

"This poem was written for entertainment purposes only. Enjoy if you're a smoker, and if you're not, screw you."



And so it one day came to pass
That our young hero did kick his elders' ass.

Therefore screwing himself good at the end of one long semester
He entered the black book by his behaviour, his name in that dreaded register.

Yet he never lived life, he kept on fucking it, so he said,
And he shouted it out loud, give it to me, baby, I'm ready in bed.

So the aforementioned elder took him out, singled him, crucified him, and dragged him to tell.
And so wonderfully damned him to hell.

One little phone call, that was his downfall.
He grabbed some ass, but the shark came to visit, and in so doing, the shark stood tall.

Shouted some choice comments, showed some choice sarcasm
While smilingly dragging him down into the chasm

Where hell joins hell, and fucked life up for him,
And sewed her back up, so his days grew immensely dim.

All the while his friends BC'd, and he did it with them
So passed his time in that one last sem.

He wrote some blogs and walked on, with his crazy smile.
He smiled knowingly, for he knew he walked the green mile.


The "Fuckfree" post

One of my readers, she dryly commented: "Hey, you're always writing fuck in  each post."
Alright, I'll sweep without even once fucking from coast to coast.
Let me assure you that you won't see "fuck" even once in this one
'Cause this is the Fuckfree post, when all's said and done.

People keep wandering in circles and swear "fucking shit".
But little do they know that such stuff won't be tolerated today, no sir, that's writ.
So read on this post that I'm having to knit.
'Cause this is the Fuckfree post, so come and read, have a sit.

In the end what does it mean this one single syllable
Does it mean that while you can do it, you're not supposed to say it out loud, and then by religion, it shouldn't be done even while it's doable?
While boys and girls doing it among themselves is sueable.
But I'm not touching that, this is the Fuckfree post, and I'm affable.

I'll admit, to not say such a word is not as tough as I thought
Saying "Fuck" is risky, and in front of faculty and elders, it's trouble cheaply bought.
Because then they say, why, weren't you anything taught?
No sir, I was, which is why I'm writing a Fuckfree post, so that I shan't be caught.

So, mon cherie, mademoiselle Fernandes, do not worry
This post is for you, and I'm following this regime to the absolute dot
And if the word "fuck" appears even one in its intended context, feel free to under common sense this young sot bury.
And forget not that even in a Fuckfree post, I can twist things, sometimes a little, sometimes a lot.

Anything else ya'd want me to omit? Comments will be taken under advisement.


Hell of a day

And it all ends as it began: "You're listening to SymbiFM powered by 94.3 (pause) Radio One (pause), Max. Music Fatafat!"
And that was so irritating, and I wished for anything, but
To say it one more time would have invited torture from hell
And I'd have even put up with daily class, and been saved by a bell
But if it hadn't ended, Jaydev Nair would have been a hermit
And he'd have got a fucking permit
To go lock himself in a frigging bloody hut
Probably even in bed with a noisy slut.

Maybe that went too far, I'm willing to moderate
But my temper has not yet decided to saturate
Right now it feels like a dragon's in my head
Oh, shit, that's my mom, she sees this and I'm dead.
I thought I wouldn't live life, I'd just fuck it
The industry I visited did say "suck it.
"Suck it for all it's worth, ya bloody moron.
Or we'll drown you and immerse your assets in boron."

I thought I wouldn't fuck life, I'd live it
And then the industry I visited sucked it away, bit by fucking bit.
What did I get, apart from almighty experience
Was that if I wanted to survive, to hell with humanity, I'd hafta march in cadence.

Ogden Nash, Ogden Nash,
Would you say I was brash?
Maybe I did just in a bunch of meaningless rhymes crash
Awww, hell, I'd rather at Wolf night bash.
Drink in one hand, dance in one leg
And then for a hangover I'd just beg.
Wouldn't I?


Nothing to do

"There is absolutely nothing to do," I proclaimed to the world at large.
It paid me about as much attention as did a makeshift barge.
"This world is a bore" said I without enthusiasm
Plunging sideways into boredom, such a chasm.

And I did swim, without hope nor zest,
But I did seep into idleness, without any rest.
So I waited and watch'd, feeling like Rorschach
And for a solution to my boredom I did my brains rack.

And what came out? Absolutely nothing.
Feeling tired once more, I lapsed into something
Resembling my former agony, my unfettered vice
Of getting bored, with neither cards nor dice.

And so I was back to square one
Tryina shoot that damn sonofagun
He never stood in one place long enough
He liked to keep things ruff and tuff.

Tryina resolve this bloody boring world
And find the fucker whose paws are curled
Around the instrument of my relief
To find pleasure and fun beyond belief.

Some advice would be incredibly handy
Nay, it'd be fine and dandy
But if not to speak you come
Then fuck off, or bring some rum.

Unusually untitled

So that's it, I guess. One lakh per year. One of the world's most expensive extended vacations, ya know? They call it SIMC. Although I'm not one for bad language, I'd call it "S**tf**ked Institute for the Mentally Challenged.
Yeah. That's how it is.
Ya come at 9 in the morning, and.... what? That's the order of the day. 9 in the morning and give your exams, then ya leave. Why? Cause it's a holiday, no classes.

Life's a bitch, but it's an extended vacation,
Yessir, you don't forget to pack your ration
Feel the air, and the water, feel the fire
There's smokes and whisky, take ya higher
But what am I saying, I, a chutiya, a liar
I'll just go heat myself in front of a dryer.

Take a break, take a kitkat
Pick up your ball and ya bat
A few rounds...
Then tell me, haven't you run agrounds?
Haven't ya thought, whassup?
Yo, B Dup, waddup
We ain't nothing but bitches, homie
Went out on a ball, so we
Stepped back for the next generation
Thinking they were the new sensation
We brought 'em back down
Taught 'em the basic verb n' noun
And we established the rule
"No mercy for the fool."

And after all that, we back to square one
Cause, homie, when all's said n' done
Life's one bitch, one extended vacation
For one more year, I need more ration.


Enemy of the State: part 1 of 3

The man was average. The word fitted him like a glove; there was nothing that stood out about him. He lived the Indian Dream- family, car and computer, two kids and a decent lifestyle.
So, one day, this man was returning from work for lunch. He stopped at a bank, intending to take some money out. And as he stood in the queue, six men entered the bank. They were big, and burly, but that never worried anyone. But when they took out several masks, and guns, and knives, that set off the panic.
And people got shot. The man didn't, to his credit. He raised his hands, asking himself, like everyone else around him, "Why me?" One of the goons asked him back: "Why not?" The biggest of the group, he was the one getting people on the floor, pushing them to the walls and molesting some of the women there.
Outside, the police had already surrounded the bank. In their haste, the goons had forgotten to take care of the guard outside. Wisely he had alerted the police.
A rapid exchange of hindi followed, which the man wasn't able to catch, but he got the gist of it.
He- they- were hostages. And these people would kill first and ask questions later.
Three hours into the situation
The situation, if anything, had gotten worse. One by one, the hostages were getting shot by the leader, after every disagreement with the police. By now, the police had become a willing slave to the goons' demands. And there were still fifteen hostages left. Outside, the babble was deafening- news crews were everywhere, covering everything. To make matters worse, a bus had crashed into a truck, which in turn had been hit by several bikes, and the police cruiser that was supposed to deliver the reinforcements had been forced to halt because of a traffic jam. In short, India was being itself.
Which didn't help the police- or the hostages- or the goons- a bit. So they all got furious, except the hostages. The goons took it out on them, and the police took it out on their own hostages- the audience the spectacle had gathered.
The man and the hostages had been placed under the care of the big guy, who was sadistic to a fault. He fit the goon image, the man thought. So the situation couldn't be worse.

(to be contd. next time I visit blogspot.)


News Flash

NEWS FLASH: Your life has reached absolutely nowhere.
The first words I heard when I woke up.
Which perhaps explains why I write such blogs, which get absolutely nowhere.
Take a hike. Because I know I am.

"Life's a bitch..."
Okay, that's it. I'm not in a mood to compose some sort of flowery poem right now, no matter how full of bad language it may be.
So... some advice.


A scenario set

A little exercise I constructed in my precious free time. Feel free to enjoy it.
The scenario: Driving along at a steady pace along a busy road, a cigarette in your hand that’s nearly finished. Chuck it away after a last breath. It happens to hit somebody. What’s your reaction?
Indifferent: Do I look like I care?
Rude: Ten points!
Apathetic: Idiot had to stand in the way.
Sympathetic: Hope it didn’t hurt.
Regretful: Oh no, he’s going to come after me!
Playful: Hmm, let’s play a mind game.
Flirtatious: (And this is only if it’s for the opposite sex) I apologize sincerely- and I’ll apologize more over a cup of coffee.
Aggressive: You stood there!
Argumentative: Was it my fault you were standing there? Was it?
Assertive: I’m terribly sorry, but I didn’t know you were there.
Terrified: Oh, Christos, I’m dead!
Confused: Hmm, did it hit anybody?
Interested: Who did it hit?
Inquisitive: Does he/she know me? Do I know them? Do they know so-and-so?
Scientific: What was the speed of the cigarette in relation to my own and theirs? The angle of curvature?
Cool: Relax, dude. Mistakes happen. Chill out.
Hopeful: What’ll he say?
Stressed: I’ll give him a piece of my mind.
Numb: Who? What? Where?
High: Dude, I hit somebody!
Low: Like I care.
Observant: What’re you wearing and where’d you get it?
Blank: What just happened?
Perverted: Where did it… touch?
Be my guest and add any other scenarios you feel like adding. After all, this could happen to anyone at anytime.


It's a dog's life.

Ah, monday morning blues. I love for the moment.
'What a wonderful world...' Louis Armstrong crooned in the corner. I threw the remains of last night's drink at the laptop.
I barely managed to catch it in time, and glared in succession.
At the laptop.
At Armstrong's screwed-up expression.
At myself in the mirror.
At nothing in particular.
I glared some more just 'cause I could.
FYI, if this is boring you, I don't give a fuck.

But I'm drifting off-topic. My life is sad. So is yours, or you wouldn't be here, reading this blog. It's the Blog Per Se, for fuck's sake. I blog for the blog's sake.
It's my life. And now, go back and see the dog on the couch.
What's his life?
Wake up. Eat. Play. Sleep. Then the vicious cycle starts again. It's a dog's life.
HA HA HA. It's THE life!
People take care of you all day long. They get you to wake up, entertain ya. Feed ya, and wipe your mouth if you're being messy. Plus you have an excuse for all the bad behaviour in the world. Plus don't even get me started on bestiality.
Fuck being rich, I'd rather be a dog.

"Ol' kids in their play,
But the dog has his day.

The youth in their cool
But the dog's no fool.

People work everyday their life
Dogs sleep through trouble n' strife.

The second childhood old age may be
But the dog's childhood is forever, see.

Fuck this world and this time
I'd be a dog, I wouldn't need ta rhyme."


The thing about life...

Life is a lot of things.

Life is a world.

Life is like a movie.

Life is like a game.

 Life is happening.

Life is to be observed.

Life is action.

Life is fast.

Life is hard, but....


And as for you....