'How like,' says Lister, 'the death wish is the life-urge! How urgently does an overwhelming obsession with life lead to suicide! Really, it's best to be half-awake and half-aware. That is the happiest stage.'

Half-awake and half-aware. When applied to me I don't suppose it's very flattering but it's certainly very accurate.

It's past midnight so this will be dated incorrectly but this evening I was privy to two intriguing pieces of information. First, that the egg chow I get outside college is rendered possible due to a steady supply from Jesus Egg Hatcheries. Secondly, the auto guy on the Garia-Golpark route who always wears a Tshirt that says Enter The Dragon in archaic yellow letters on the back really likes the 3 Idiots soundtrack because that's all that plays on his stereo. A lady told him to shut it today and he went almost tearful with indignation or sorrow, I know not which.

Placing everything in the midst of a risingsun. A real risingsun! A cherry-topped drink, a paanbox, a suitcase, a monkeytupi. Accessories for the subject. Then rays of light emerging from one's head in wide yellow and blue bars. It's de-lovely. Coming next, clutching what is to be clutched, wearing what is to be worn, taking a delicate sip and bounding across a dusty plain, then right off the edge of a waterfall in a whipstitched canoe. All that will remain is a chappal suspended in mid-air, accumulating dew in the cold, startling vivid overfeathered birds. Tinkly chimey music. What a nice SFX expert I'd make if I had the skills.

What what what is happening to my city? At seven today there was the thickest blanket of white outside my window, so much whiteness you couldn't see three feet from where I was. And I like a fool went back to sleep, assuming it was bad vision or addled brain or both. Eight AM now and I'm awake and kicking and it still won't go away, this feeling that my building's floating in mid-air. It is the winter of my smiles.

"Have you stepped outside?"

"Outside, or the lack thereof?"

Hahahaha. Delirium. I have half an hour to get ready and step into the white.

For my last meal I want a lump of red rice with mango-shrimp curry and appam with Malabari chicken and parotta with green mutton curry. Before this I want a Bloody Mary. Finally elayada, then shorbhaja and kachagolla. Then death. Probably as an aftermath, but if I can sit through this I'll be more than happy with death. Death over indigestion, folks.

If I weren't this lazy I'd give this a try. Maybe I will anyway. Also, What?

Google I love you. I'm trampling all over you but I still love you.

If it isn't tiring enough when people are being paternal, consider the world being paternal. The nutters I have for relatives, I recently discovered, told their adopted kid that since she was bestowed on them them by a higher power, Lord Krishna's effectively her brother. And whaddya know, she believes it. The chubby blue boy on the wall, that's him. Bhagyam.

I was late to dinner with la celeste
and that shunts me back to why
it was a mela and I watched Paban Das Baul
and had a little heartbreak at the calmness of it
Then things got funnier.


This year's turning out funny in ways I didn't think funny touched. I'm a jester at an ancient court? And I have three f-l-fs in my throat? It's a good thing because if it weren't this funny I'd be YouTubing things all the bloody time and that could never be anything but both damaging and detrimental. Speaking of YouTube, I have to retrieve password.

Flat U Lens.

(having a huge problem around about the other end)