27 November, 2006

Smoke-rings of my mind

Well, here I am,back at staring into the smoke-rings of my mind. Was in a rather extraneous week.

Saw Casino Royale. As an action film, it rocked. As a Bond film, it lacked that subtle sense of suavity. Yeah, I know it's the starting of the entire thing, but well . . . I found it lacking.

Saw the Bangali translation of the play 'The House of Bernarda Alba". Liked it somewhat, though the message seems a bit jaded with feminists cropping up all over he globe.
Evening. A walk round Citizen's Park. In a slouching gait that only I can manage. Scattering scandalised conglobulated couples in my terrific wake.

Also, today marks my belated foray into composing poetry in my mother tongue. Disgracefully, I first thought out the stuff in English, then translated. Yet I made it rhyme! Yeah!
Tentatively named it the "Last Sunrise". A lone human's plea to the Creator, to end the eternal weariness of existence.

Read a bit of Omar Khayyam, again. Old favorite. The part about flinging the dregs of regret into the Fires of Spring...
And of course the eternal:
"I ask naught of the world,
Save a loaf of bread, a jug of wine
And thou..."

And thou just happens to IL Finar's Organic Chemistry. I'm studying. And striking a balance with my other literary pastimes. And so I shall.

The play was good. It elaborated on the differences between the following:
Wanting to do,
And having the power to do so . . .

I once said that my indifferense to my fellow men has shut me out in my mush savored solitude. Where venture only my few friends, free-souls. But men it seemeth do not like being ignored. Often, a desire for solitude is misconstrued as aloofness. A hatred for idle gossip: arrogance.

23 November, 2006

All The World's A Stage

We have written a play. Tried to make it as realistic as possible. Being no great Thespian, i've been content to remain the playwright (one of them!)
Trying to immerse myself into as many activities as possible. Toil, and the frustration (immense), well-tempered with excruciating impatience regarding any task I have to do, takes my mind off things. Believe me, slanging for all I'm worth, into the night sky is day better than brooding.
I intend to do something nice this winter. Comparable as a shack is to a skyscraper to the Taj Mahal.
Listened to Beethoven symphonies (all 9). Credit's going to Karajan and Klemperer. Also, Thus Spake Zarathrustra, Amy Lee's Call Me When You're Sober and Broken (I like this one better).
For now, i muse at random.

04 November, 2006

I didn't

No, I didn't change my expression. I didn't cry.

And felt my universe crash about me. Silent. Unresisting. Submitting to reality, for in that submission I reaffirm my lifelong devotion to rationality and logic. And reality.

But there shall be no other. I cannot create a Taj Mahal. But my life shall be a monument to that infinite grace. My highest reverence. The temple...

Only myself. On with the life I shall yet master! Myself and no other. Now and for ever. The little that I can possibly do.

And remember. Always.

I didn't cry. Or am I lying?

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