so who said what one reads makes the person. i feel like doing all of Crow tonight. if you are planning on trying it, let me warn you, its injurious to your health. mental. have fun. morbid is as morbid does.

P.S. I miss Powell's a lot.

Rains lashed the city. And how. Everyone was soaking, the dug-up roads were sucking and society as usual was shrinking. Society, in Bangalore is now the size of a micro-miniscule cell phone that fits in any pocket, a cell-phone that usually falls prey to those situations where the phone is pressed against the innards of the pocket and keeps calling different numbers of its own accord. The gossip circulates soooo fast and sooo intensely that it keeps bumbing into itself in its tight little cell-phony whirlpool. Sick, soaky, sucky and shrinky.
And now its all wet.
Absolutely disgusting. Yuckfuck.

home and therefore somewhat incommunicado.
so i noticed in the last one week that i've become rusty at some things, amusingly adept at others- maybe even shockingly so, otherwise its been exciting to be home. have met and hung out with most except for the pH, Enfant Terrible and some others.
the Hanif has become a little stupid, it says it is shy and won't sing on the rides back from the usual frog-ponds, as someone we know calls them. the Hanif has become too big for my boots but still as sane as i left it. the Hanif has also become a schemer, a good one at that. it was privy to the orchestrations of the Evil Sidekick as the latter manipulated my one evening in London to belong at the Royal Albert Hall where Sting performed!! the disregard for my weak heart was astounding. Lords, Abbey Road, Wimbledon and then Sting? so Wilde was right i guess, "nothing succeeds like excess."
oxford felt like a detour into the 15th century thats dressed up in shorts and t-shirts. please don't mind the gap. people really "row for balliol", drink at 'the head of the river', write their exams in gowns, turn up for cricket matches in "jacket and tie", perform atavistic nastiness towards brownies and SIT during a Sting concert. i shook my head for the most part at oxford but laughed out loud when one undergrad confessed to her colleagues- "i'm quite sure i saw Seamus Heaney."

you won't believe how far the plot has thickened. and i know now how Mac felt in order to say "I am in blood stepp'd in so far, that returning were as tedious as go o'er".

fuck shit piss ladies and gentlemen.

Tomorrow when i have finally submitted Medusa's paper i will let out three shouts of hysterics marking the end of a semester full of torture. And then i will never have any truck with Medusa again. I will smirk when i pass her by in the corridors or even release an evil snigger. I have an uncanny but painful track record with profs who proclaim their feminist tendencies and tomorrow will announce the end of all those episodes hopefully. This is the end, my friend, the end.
And as is characteristic of most ends a new me will begin.
And tomorrow there will be time, there will be time to laugh at all the trauma Medusa has caused me and my ilk. 3 separate hysteric shrieks for each of them.

i have made today a pond so that i can perform the lazy water buffalo and act like time will just stay clogged in with me. i still have 2 papers to go and a crappy one that i finished which needs an extensive facelift.

the joking in her madness has infected me with this mania called smileycentral.
please be entertained. i have to go back and buffolate in my sunshiney-but-paper's-only-crawwwwling swamp.
be happy. here's to other neer yemmes. *glugg-slugg*