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.

27.7.10

P.F.M.B.

Problems Fucking My Brains. Part 1
The Problem with the internet- Yessir, there's no doubting that I'm causing no amount of damage to the mindfuckers at cyberroam or whatever they prefer to call themselves, but wtf is with them closing blogspot to me? I cannae open my blogs, no sir, everytime I do, I get a 404 not found error. Fuck me, but last I checked I didst have a blog, milord, even two perchance. Why? I like to blog. Why me? I may fuck the internet bad but I still paid three lakhs for it, and it can't open a shitfucked BLOG? Wordpress is still functioning, although for some reason I can't comment as of yesterday.
Wikileaks, the website I wanted to check. "Labelled as Advertisements".
 You get my point?

The Problem with class- Whasamatter with class? We are back to the Fourth standard, ladies and gents, and you cannae persecute me for saying so. Why else would a whole class- and I mean whole as a whole, even those who sleep in the back rows- decide to argue with the teacher for half-an-hour over... NAMES?
And shit like this is the reason for my atheism; gods above, you know I don't believe in you- 'cause if you were there, and if you were active like any amount of seeders on torrent, then you'd have done something about this mindfucking everyday.

The Problem with Religion- I have no shit for those who want to follow their religions. They can go ahead and do what they like. The fact being that they prefer to shift their faith from themselves to their gods is what I don't like. I don't know why; my parents believe in god. I just don't. I believe that if you have faith in yourself, you can get through mountains and molehills and live to fuck at the end of it. 
But then comes along the concept of a higher power. Now, if god made the heavens and the earth, and if he hates pagans, if he hates us polluting nature, if he hates non-believers, if he despises atheists, then please tell me wtf am I doing here. I am an effective pagan, a non-believer, and I swear to hell on earth that I smoke enough to pollute.
One example of this would be True Blood, a vampire series that used to come on HBO late nights. This is another problem I'll be addressing later, how the concept of a vampire shifted in regards to PR and Brand positioning. Stuff like this is worth doing Ph.D.s over, and no one even looks twice at it.
True Blood has a brilliant opening sequence. And one scene cometh where a billboard proclaims, "God Hates Fangs." And later on, when the protagonists drive past it, the vampire says: 'If he hates fangs so much, why am I here to argue with you?'

The Problem with mindfucking- It's become all too common as more and more people go through mid-life crises in their teenage-semi-adulthood. It's a pity, but young and stupid as I am, I still find myself jaded with so many aspects of what so many would consider a wonderful life. How wonderful? I drive past a wilderness everyday to get to college, and I drive past X amount of beggars, vendors, street urchins and the list could go on further but I haven't the time. 
To them, my life is ideal. To me, it's daftishly mindfucking.
Perspectives define life. Sadly they also destroy it.
I once visited a village near Otopalam (Kerala, where my da's from) and I wandered into the abode of one of those priests you find who cons you out of ten rupees to read your palm. He conned me out of five, and I still think I came off pretty badly, considering his advice- 'You'll die young.' When I asked him how young, he held out his hand for another five rupees. I told him I didn't need to know, and true to form, like an autovalla running after you to agree with your fare, he came along, and told me, in four more years. 
Unfortunately, that was five years ago. Now you see why I keep feeling I wasted my life? Maybe if I'd come to cherish it more, I'd have lost it.
The sad part is that when you try to get what you want, you get the exact opposite. Those four years saw a lot of heartbreaks, mindfucks, exams and general chutiyaapa. I indulged myself too much because I had an idea that I was going to die- why not make the most of it?
Instead life took a cruel turn, and I'm still convinced as to why I didn't die.
Some time back my sister got into an accident and broke her leg. The guy she rammed was in pretty bad shape that day and stayed in the hospital for a longer time. From all the details I got out of the onlookers, that accident had been inevitable.
A parade of sorts on a blind turn is asking for an accident.
And what I remember is I refused to drive her that day and stayed home to watch some films. If I wasn't so self-indulgent, I'd have fucking lost my life, speed demon that I like to be. So there's the conclusion:
Never wish for something so much. You'll end up getting the exact opposite.
And there I'll end my blog.

23.7.10

Memoirs of a boring class.

Till kingdom come we await our doom;
Sitting stony-faced in a crowded room.
When will it enter, on wings night-black?
To torture in ecstasy on the chain and rack?

Yes, 'tis a sorry sad tale, a state.

For those of us awaiting this fate.
And lo, it cometh, of eyes dark and visage grim
To skewer our sanity and health on its whim.
The only greeting arises from boredom,
An aide, for it would not quickly butcher and hoard 'em.

Yes, we were in trouble ungainly-
And worse news to come, our shift doubled cleanly.
So we tightened our belts, teeth grounded.
Alarms of sleep loudly sounded-
Into Morpheus's waiting embrace we flew,
like into sunlight does evaporate dew.

To avoid that one being to deny us beer-
Strict, and surreptitious, the all-seeing teacher!















(Pic from http://www.grinningplanet.com)

22.7.10

Once more.

So, here we are again. Or perhaps I should say, here YOU are, at another post in my repertoire. What should this one pertain to?
Obviously the good things in life, to which I raise my glass of heavily spiked rum, of course; that which we love to do.
Yet a worry lies on my heart, reader, a worry that threatens to consume me unless I address it directly, face-to-face.
A worry so odd yet so distressing, a worry that threatens to tear my pace.

A worry, reader, of being too long-winded.
Or perhaps just plain one-sided.
Writing for my own pleasure is not a crime. In fact, to me it's the best way of writing; fuck criticism. Fuck whatever anyone else has to say.
For out of fine material has god made an artist; out of the leftover rubbish made he three critics to hold the artist at bay.

Yet a purpose must be kept. Even in idleness is a purpose; even in misery a joy.
Yet it may not be the idle who keeps a purpose, nor the miser his joy, which only he enjoys who troubles the miser and remains coy.
You get my point?
Please, don't rush, wait till I finish my joint.

A very famous poet did once write "In Xanadu," a splendid fellow who believed that was a source, inebriation;
Of that which fuels artists and grants them relief from boredom; the source, sir, of inspiration.
"Inspired" goes the tagline for some product I can't remember.
Sighing in disappointment, I can comprehend dimly, my memory did these years dismember.

Ah, yes; these wonderful fucksome years I will never forget, may my vocabulary never run out of words to describe it.. enough said.
Most days I come back cradling more than disappointment, and so disoriented that I may take a snake to my bed-
And hope that it in the morning, neither snake nor I may be in the room.
Spare the snake, I would, for PETA is a fire-breathing monster in this age; I only wish for myself that doom.

Spare the rod and infuriate the child.
Yes, the youth of today has boundless energy when riled-
But it fades, as everything must. Time is the ultimate assassin and can destroy empires yet nuture a sapling to mature greatness only to destroy that as well.
Time, the ultimate leveller. Time the master of the universe. Time the motherfucker, ringing enjoyment's death-knell.

Sad it is, and I hate to be Yoda with his twisted talk and unhinged brain at the end of episode six.
That recently came on Pix-
I missed it and watched a porno instead.
Of course, that is what I will do and am doing and did.

Girlfriends come and go, whores even faster. Yet all that is left to accompany us is not our friends or family- even they pass away.
If you're a man, you know what it is- the lingam, to put it politely. Bombs away.
Pity that I must use the same word twice to rhyme but I am so high that I have for some insane reason taken the laptop to the terrace of my apartment, waiting for the battery to give out.
And to my dreams of writing a hugely insane poem without reason nor sense, rout.

And lo- it flashes! As the Lord giveth- the lord taketh away, and I watch the remains of my poem dissolve formlessly into the ether of the universe-
And finish this poem with a bloody good curse:

"Teri maa ki chut HP ki harami bhosadchod aulad!"

2.7.10

Aaj ki 1.46

Aaj ka sawaal hai bade chutiyaapa ka.
Kya hum class me baithe na?
Ya kya hum kare randaapa?
Haina ye badhi chutiyaapa?

Woh lamhe kaha gaye, woh junoon kaha.
Jab hum jaate the budhwar peth yaha
Nahi to Panvel ki chake taazi swaad
Aur wapas aye with taazi yaad?

Ha, bhaisaab, kya kare is duniya ki
Jisme hume ya humaro ki
Hoti nahi hume parvaah?
Bus subah ka ho chutiyaapa
Aur shaam me soche.. aaj kiya kya tha?