Of lost time and a grumpy nine months.....

Wow! To say it's been a while would be an understatement. This was a 'while' while. A whole nine months of a while. Don't ask me where I was; don't bother with the ‘why’s’. It's like these past months have been a whirlwind ride and I don't really remember much of anything. Last I recall, I'd been planning to bring out a post on procrastination. Never really got to that, oddly enough. 

*laughs* See what I did there?

So, what brings me back, you ask? Well, the other day, we'd been discussing the past year and a buddy asks me what the one thing I missed the most was. You'd think just because I'm mentioning this right now, I'd had said it was this blog, but no, not really. Normally my answer would be related to past friendships and old jokes, but for the first time in my life, I actually thought before opening my yap and surprisingly, in the rusty cobwebbed corner of my cranium, I heard a quiet whisper that echoed past unused hallways, resonating louder with every beat, a single word, ‘Purpose’.

Before I explain further; Yes, I did in fact call my brain unused; No, I'm not stupid; No, I admit to nothing.

Anyways, that conversation with my friend made me realize something. In the past eleven months since this year has begun, I've done absolutely nothing worth remembering. Father Time seems to be in such a rush these days that I don't know when one month ends and the other begins. That wretched old man with the shabby cloak is giving me whiplash with his sudden days and nights that I'd like to just grab him by his wispy beard and shove him head first into an elephant's rear end. Maybe a trip to where the sun don't shine might just make him see the light. *snickers*

Sorry, bad joke! Bad joke!

But we need time, dammit! 

And its not just the clock. I don't remember when last I've had the drive or purpose to do anything. It used to be that I'd write this blog for a reason, but all the humdrum of day to day life has snapped the urge right out of me. It pains me to know that I've whittled away nine months of my life without anything productive. This! While all around me, every second of everyday someone out there is blogging just to make sense of all that he or she is. It's disheartening.

Oh my God! I just realized something. If those last two lines were written in context to childbirth, this post would have a whole new meaning.

Holy Macaroni! This is why I love words! *snickers*

See? This was what I was missing!  For those of you out there who just can't find the time to do what you love, don't give up on it. Just don't! Take it from someone who wasted nine months, *snickers*, I'm sorry but that just gets me,*snickers*, sorry,*laughs*

The point is, just try! You can readjust your schedule, sleep less, or you could just scrunch up your schedule into a ball and shove it down Father Time's throat but whatever you do, keep writing, always keep writing!

And don't drink, and don't smoke, and don't watch porn, and don't kick beavers. Seriously, Don't! I'll haunt you in your dreams if you hurt those furry bastards. Not cool man! Not cool!

Pussies, Pussies everywhere...

What did Alexander, Napoleon, and Genghis Khan, all have in common? One hell of a death wish. Either that or they were dropped on the head when they were babies. I've heard stuff like that can really screw someone up. Just ask me! My dad still curses the day someone left a banana peel lying around the house. His son has never been the same since (and I've got the bump to prove it.). But they were brave, or whatever that means. Frankly, facing an army of soldiers that would like nothing better than to send a barbed stake up your ass isn't really at the top of my wish list.

I've never been an adrenaline junkie. Never understood why one would rather run towards danger. Perhaps that makes me a lesser man but I kind of like having my bones facing the right way.

For so long, I've beaten myself up over the fact that I don't have the 'guts' to take life by the collar. It sucks knowing you're a pussy and you can't do much about it. Who wouldn't want to do a Bruce Willis every other day? (Yes! Die Hard 5 is awesome! Critics be damned.)  The idea of facing my fears seems so foreign in every way, that it rarely surprises me every time I flinch at something.For so long, I've pictured myself as the Cowardly Lion from the 'Wizard of Oz', always in search of that extra vial of courage. Maybe then I'd be able to beat up the bullies and jump over buildings. Perhaps then I'd have a huge penis and all the girls would lov...

Perhaps I got carried away a little. But isn't that how life goes. How society worships the brave. The ones that have no fear are revered, immortalised.

But do such people really exist? Is there really any such thing as 'no fear'?

Everyone is afraid. It's all part of being human. I used to think I was a pussy. I still do! But I'm not worried anymore. My time will come. Perhaps one day I'll find that vial of courage. Because really, isn't that vial just a drop of purpose? All the great heroes of the past have faced their fears because they had to. For love, for honour, for respect, perhaps even self preservation. In the end of it all, it matters only that you've got the drive. Courage isn't really measured in the steps taken forward but the will to take back what truly matters the most. We all have that in us and I pray one day we shall find that thing worth fighting for.

Perhaps then, we can all be brave. Until then, Running does have a really nice ring to it, doesn't it?

An Epiphany

Don't you just love epiphanies. I do! They always hit me when I least expect it. Wether I'm jumping over a fence or just staring at Scarlet Johanssen's.......smile.

Aaah. Good times.

*sighs*

Where was I? Aah yes, My epiphany. This struck me a few days back.

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Of the most worn out of terms, none is more used than the word 'cool'. It is society's greatest irony that everyone, this writer included, attempts to bring a little cool factor to their image. And in attempting to do so, in trying to be the 'smooth cool dude around the block', we tend to overlook a little something. You see, chances are, you may succeed, you could very well be considered as such, but let's try to glimpse at what's actually happening here.

It goes without saying that the word 'cool' is just a slang for 'unfazed'. See where I'm going here? How can one consider himself as 'cool' when he's so fazed by what society thinks of him. To be truly 'cool' is to stick by one's true identity. Not follow some fucked up trend the world seems hell bent on drooling over.

Because let's face it, more often than not, glazed eyes and a hoodie are just going to make you look like a junkie. 

There's never going to be a perfect recipe. 

Except maybe for Tom Cruise.

('Kay I'll come clean! I've had this huge man crush on the guy ever since, well, ever. Yes, my unmentionables are intact! No, I'm NOT sprouting ovaries. Shut up, He's awesome. DO. NOT. CALL. HIM. OLD. )

(And the couch thing was kinda cute. Shut up, I'm not gay!)

The point is, just be yourself. You'll do fine. If they love you, awesome. If they find you annoying, then, well, it isn't worth thinking twice over. I've had loads of people look me in the eye thinking I belong in an institution. Perhaps I do. Perhaps I don't. You know what, I kinda look forward to those looks, just so I can quote one of my favourite literary figures.

"Don't worry, buddy. I'm an acquired taste. Most of my best friends had to know me for years before they could even stand my presence. I'm like mold, I usually grow on you very slowly." -Tabitha Deveraux

And on that awesome note- Sayonara (Did you know this was chinese? I always thought it was spanish.)

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Writer's notes : Sayonara is actually japaneese. Apparently my readers are smart. Thanks for the correction guys. Let's not mention this ever again. No seriously. Never again. Or I will find you and I'll make you watch barbie re-runs all day. If that doesn't kill you, I don't know what will?
 

Small can work just as fine...

The subtle ticking of seconds gone by filled the quiet stillness of anticipation. All breathing was paused until that feeble arm of father time reached that still infernal spot which would perhaps, as it has so often in the past, signal the start of a new day. Or perhaps…the end of time itself. Who am I kidding, that ship sailed by a long time ago. 

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

3 more seconds.

Tick.

Tick.

And so it began.

On this most momentous of occasions, I’d like to pay homage to the greatest invention ever made. 

No, I don’t mean the back scratcher. Yes, I know how awesome it is…Yes…I...

No, Victoria Secrets has nothing to do with it. Nope. Not even Apple. I said NO!

What I was saying was, the greatest of all inventions has to be, the diminutive ‘Cog Wheel’. 

Yeah, save the groans until after you hear me out

.

The Cog is the symbol of all things ‘change’. Da Vinci in a moment of greatness might’ve uncovered a device that would change the face of the earth in the years to come. For in the spiked wheel, one does not just come across a vital of piece of everyday circuitry but something quite extraordinary.

For in considering the cog, we look at an image of change. Its sequential rotations bring about perennial motions that have the ability to fire a change of immense consequences. It shows of how huge clockwork devices weighing tons are fired by the smallest of cogs. 

Taking this into everyday life, it’s amazing how a miracles can be created by the teensiest of actions.

Just as how the greatest waves start with the smallest of ripples.

How the greatest books start with the smallest of words.

How the greatest orgasms start with the smallest of.......Ok-aaaaay, didn’t really know where I was going with that.

It should then be considered that in the year to come, what we willingly or unwillingly do has the ability to effect the lives of those around us. A small scowl or uncalled-for comment has the power to bring down a person’s will while something as small as a smile has the potential to lift a heart, and that is as priceless a feeling as one can possibly feel. 

It’s quite worth the thought, is it not? 

Stop a single cog and father time himself comes to his knees. Just imagine what a small deed done with the best of intentions could do? 

Maybe it couldn’t give us world peace but an answering smile is, quite frankly, just as beautiful.

HAPPY NEW YEAR GUYS! Thanks for reading ^_^

Expectations, Expectations....

Correct me if I'm wrong, and I'm usually never wrong. Okay! Maybe that one time about the new neighbour down the block with those lovely locks of long hair and an amazing pair of jean clad legs, Unbelievable.

So, it turned out he was a guy, but in my defense, I didn't get a glimpse at his face. It could have happened to anyone. No biggie.  

No.  Biggie.

As I was saying. Correct me if I'm wrong, but it just so happens that so much of what we percieve is shaded by a thick film of expectation. So much so that, at times, It isn't so much a matter of shading our perception of life as it is a matter of morphing our view of the world.
I say this because, more often than not, expectations are not just delicate bubbles of hope that pop soundlessly when unfulfilled, they're more like huge gas balls that leave aftershocks of regret in their tread. They're that really annoying pimple which seems poised to never leave your face and when you finally blast the bitch out of sheer frustration, it morphs into this even uglier dark spot that just squats there staring at you through the mirror.

AAAARGH!

I know that wasn't much of an example, but what I'm trying to say is that expectations sometimes tend to take over reality, they tend to shape our lives and inevitably screw with our heads.

Your first relationship, for example. Movies are such a pain. Books are even worse. They fill you up with magical hope and fairytale expectations. Love at first sight. Intense feelings of scorching passion.  *belch*  What you get is an intense smell of onions with greasy hair and a spectacular moustache.


What about the first time you see a girl naked. You want it to be a young beauty with a pert lushness and exotic sensuality far beyond your wildest dreams. Until of course, you end up on a school trip to an old age home to honour the wizened. Bet you won't forget that trip to the restroom. Bet you'll always knock. Seriously. Always knock. Always. *shudder*


Let's not forget the Gym. The Gym is the birthplace of expectations. It's the temple of the ego. Everywhere you look, there's a mirror. Everywhere you look, there's a flexer. It's the battleground of sweat, toil and tears. Where egos are built or destroyed. You either make it, or you don't. Whatever the outcome, there's always some buffed up, testosterone clad jackass flexing his pecs and looking you over in a silent dare of "What-you-looking-at-punk".

Pretty soon, this 'cocky someone' is every expectation you've ever had and never seen. This 'cocky someone' comes to represent what you can never possess. This 'cocky someone' becomes the "in-your-face" that life shoved straight at you. This 'cocky someone' has it ALL.

The gym is a cruel place for the untrained mind. Where egos are built or destroyed.

Especially....Especially if said 'cocky someone' ends up flat on the floor with the heel of his right hand coaxing his now battered groin.   Don't judge me.

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Whatever the case, fulfilled or unfulfilled, expectations are dangerous. Wishes are best kept reasonable and low-flying.

Yeah right!

Where's the fun in that! Expectations are dreams. Nobody should limit their dreams. Dreams are our escape into the unbelievable and the improbable.

For all we know, I might still get that kiss from Angelina Jolie. And if it isn't the best? If it isn't upto expectation? Who cares? I'll still piss off Brad Pitt and a ton of other guys. And that, my friends, is worth it all.

Halos and Tridents...

                                           

T'was the call of a new time. The first step into the unseen. As the early specks of light dust broke through the tiny crevice between my shades, It snapped open a calm revrie and my eyes tore apart with toe-curling realisation,

I've gotta pee....REAL BAD!!

                                               

Sorry about that. Kinda tasteless but couldn't resist. The lil' devil in my mind kept saying, "GO FOR IT!".

You know, the same nasty bugger that makes you want to kick someone in the ass every time they happen to be bending over tying their shoelace or something.

                                                 

The same one that makes you want to run over a mime just because the street needed another zebra crossing.

                                               

It's that nasty devil that almost always clobbers your pure conscience leaving you regretting a deed you really should've thought twice about. Especially when said "Kicked-butt" turns around with a six-foot confidence and a raging fist itching to have a go at remodelling your sorry face. Especially even, when you're left scraping all the gooey white makeup that stubbornly clings to your front bumper with the kind of annoying defiance you come to see with mimes.

There seems to be a raging war in our heads that governs the deeds of all and sundry. More often than not, these minor battles are but ripples to a still water that is life. But there come times in every person's life when decisions have the ability to upturn, to disturb a tranquillity and to bring ashore a hurdle unforeseen.

                             
Now, I'm not going to be all angelic. There's not going to be any saint like bullshit from me. No "The truth shall set you free", No "Only the good shall succeed". That's all a load of poop. When it comes to these decisions, When that little devil starts polishing his trident and the angel, his halo (Don't really know what they go to war with, the halo must be there for something), both sides seem to carve "the perfect path". Both with it's share of benefits and piss-offs. I'm not really one to judge which is right and which is wrong. That folks, is a matter of perception.

But I will tell you this. Don't try to think of it as the path of the devil or the path of the angel. Just stop and consider this, Is what you're about to do going to be worth it?

For when the first specks of light dust break through the tiny crevice between your shades, snapping open a calm reverie signalling the dawn of a new day, When the world opens it's arms to a tomorrow,

Will you be able to spread your shoulders with a warmth that comes with the knowledge of a job well done and a guilt free future that lasts longer than the few minutes of joy that comes from a stolen orgasm or a drug induced high?

We all fight our own battles littered with guilty pleasures and hooded memories. Our back yard is as cluttered as our neighbours. Only we have the right to look back and criticise.

Don't judge others when we know not what they have to face. Ones life is ones own. It's our identity. Be it good or bad. Be it the fuck-ups or just the good ol' "ups". It's ours for the taking.

Kids, poodles and poopy pants.....

                                                                   "Childhood Innocence"

Surely they weren't serious? Surely there's been some kind of a mistake? Someone must be having a laugh?


Whoever decided to bring the two words together must surely be laughing his bony bum off in a grave somewhere.

Either that or he must have been high. I hear Opium was legal those days. Must have taken an small Asian nation just to keep the creative in question awake.

Either that or it was written by an idiot. Apparently "Someone" gifted life without the curse of self-awareness. Or taste, irony or judgement for that matter.

Whoever thinks children are innocent surely hasn't been tasked with babysitting those nasty buggers yet. No matter what, I always end up having to find my wallet under couches and behind cupboards. And they almost always have a few notes missing, Not that there were many in the first place. And the STAINS.GOD!!! those STAINS!!!

                                                          

But those issues aside, Kids have always had a sort of perverse sense of thought. By perverse, I refer not, to the sexual innuendos of adults. Nope, for them, puberty is miles away and any sight of the opposite sex makes them run for cover, screaming "COOTIES" as a distress call for all to hear.

                                                  

Nope. What I'm referring to, is different sort of perversion. The sort of perversion that's to do with wet ketchup stains, poopy pants, wet beds and the oh-so-unforgettable FART JOKES. You think we'd be above such stuff, but our backyard is ridden with childhood memories to negate such false assumptions.

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Look at me for instance,

By age 11, I was convinced that poodles were dogs with some weird hair shedding disease. I mean, look at these buggers.

                                                            

By age 12, Ben Franklin made way into my school syllabus. I had my first Einstein moment that day. I'd theorised that the growing poodle population had nothing to do with a fast spreading hair disease but everything to do with a bunch of dogs who'd decided to pee on a lightning rod in the middle of a Thunder storm.

                                                    

Something similar to this

By age 13, I was told it wasn't the rod that rode down the side of a building. Merely a wire connected to it.

                                                        

Safe to say, I thought the teacher an idiot. Never poop on kid's imagination. You might just end-up with some on your doorstep.
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Now, That brings to mind another obsession. The word "Poop" had made it's way into every child's vocabulary. I was no exception. We'd be hurling insults at the speed of light to all and sundry. With words ranging from poopy pants to poopy poop and the infamous poopy face, The "largely brown" spectrum was vast growing owing to no lack of imagination or creative input on our part.
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And the fart jokes just kept coming. We'd been blasting fart noises into the still atmosphere ever since we learnt to "Pucker up and blow".

                                                        

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But all jokes aside, I didn't mean it when i say kids aren't innocent. They're the best kind of innocent.

You see,

As we grew up, Our best friend becomes our worst enemy.
Lollipops turned to cigarettes.
Home work went in the trash.
Detention became suspension.
Soda became vodka.
Kisses turned into sex.

Remember when getting high meant swinging on the playground?
When protection meant wearing a helmet?
When the worst things you could get from boys were cooties?
When Papa's shoulders were the highest place on earth and mommy was the love of ur life?
When your worst enemies were your siblings?
When race issues were about who ran the fastest and war was only a card game?
When only drug you knew was cough medicine?
When the only things that hurt you were skinned knees?
When goodbyes only meant, until tomorrow?
Remember when we couldn't wait to grow up?

Bring back that innocence folks. The world needs it. You need it!

So reach under your beds, Don on that red-blanket and take to the skies in your blue boxers. And when you've reached the highest....the peak....the summit....

                                                            just PUCKER-UP and BLOW.