Life and times of a Cynic.

Been busy of late, hence just fishing some random thoughts but not exactly in the cynical order.
So here we go,

O boy! Way back from the clinic
I bought a hat navy-blue
The hat that read a bold cynic
And then O boy! as I wore it anew
They called me "hey cynic, you"!
"Cynic who"`? I said, "O no boy! I’m just askew".

Literature-fiction:
Much for the best seller halo that engulfs it and the repeated insistence of my friends finally finished Da Vinci code. I felt like a horse taken to the water and then all of a sudden the water evaporated before you. Earlier books used to manipulate you emotionally now they have even started meddling with the intellect. It’s going to be some time before I actually lay my hands on another fiction.

Blogging:
Nietzsche once said In your solitude if you have talent to think deeply about anything but not enough time to write a book about it then you will make good letter writer.
My corollary In your solitude if you have talent to think deeply about anything but not enough time to write a book about it and have a career then you will make good blogger.

Personal:
And then yesterday I had it again, standing in the parking lot was just about to turn when the slow reprise of the almost forgotten gradually building into a silent climax came cutting across time space matter into a overwhelming memory of déjà vu .
I gazed at the cars, the tall buildings the trees and the whole premise looked so very familiar, I smiled and told myself Oh yes! I was here before.
******
Got two unexpected e-mails this week:
P sent me Freud on religious practices and A sent Rilke's Letters to an young poet.Though from very unlikely sources, it was absorbing reads.Got to blog about them sometime.Thank you and keep them coming folks.
******
Another one this week:
Me:u remember? I signed off 'borderline'?
Carl: Oh yes! U R very well adjusted.
Carl coming from you i m just taking it point blank.
******
This another James Joyce story for Jane Eyre fan who visits here;
Young Joyce on meeting WB yeats:
J:Im twenty, How old are you?
Y:Thirty six, well actually thirty seven.
J:I thought as much.I have met you too late.You are too old for me to help you.
Apparently an offended yeats told his friends later''such a colossal self-conceit with such a lilliputian literary genius I never saw combined in a single person''.
Well what can one say, JOYCE IS JOYCE.
******
Contemparary Politics:

A tale of two American heroes-Tom sawyer and Thomas jefferson!
Characters:
Tom- Tom sawyer/ Thomas Jefferson.
Aunt: Statue of liberty.
Huckleberry finn: George W. Bush Junior.
Genre: Parody.

"Tom!"
No answer.
"Tom!"
No answer.
"What's gone with that boy, I wonder? You Tom!"
No answer.
The old lady pulled her spectacles down and looked over them about the room; then she put them up and looked out under them. She seldom or never looked through them for so small a thing as a boy; they were her state pair, the pride of her heart, and were built for "style," not service -- she could have seen through a pair of stove-lids just as well. She looked perplexed for a moment, and then said, not fiercely, looking over a piece of paper.
“Y-o-u-u Tom! “What is this??
Tom came back “Yes auntie'', peering over a paper that carried his own handwriting he said with pride “That is the Declaration of independence of United States of America”.
''Oh! I know, And what is this''? She asked excitedly.
''That is Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of happiness''.

The aunt was astonished "What? Tom your are such a dunce! If you put a whole nation in *pursuit* of happiness didn’t it occur to you that the nation might not recognise happiness even if it bumps into happiness on a road?"

“Err” Tom looked sheepishly. Huckleberry was grinning widely from the corner of the room.

Sports-Indian cricket:
As predicted in the cricket-blog circles, sachin blasted a hapless Bangladesh attack into record books. Well even zaheer did! And now sachin and kumble will be sung to the tunes of great heroes. Kumble is the greatest vegetarian wicket taker, how does that sound for someone who can’t bowl without six men around the bat? And speaking of sachin, of late he has let too many undeserving rookies kiss his stumps. Sad though, it is a fact we all know and never want to acknowledge that he is just not the player he was! Where is that arrogant lil nudge to the third man?
Meanwhile Arsenal are riding their sine wave from the peak to back home.But it was absolutely great show guys.

With this big birthday coming up things are going to be hectic.
Jesus Christ! Got to go now….
Have fun time,
So long

Elle and Lui

There she is. That pretty face. I still remember the first time I saw her. Those alluring eyes which gives out a light that makes you so naked. The eyes that could singe any man. You should see her laugh with those eyes, as if she owns everything that ever was and wants nothing from anyone. Sometimes I feel I should leave everything in the world and just sit before her, silently gazing into those deep hazels and I still would find everything I left in the world hidden there. She knows that.That's why, She always hooks my lips with a focus like she wants to burn it. Such a pity that she can’t see the beauty of her own eyes. And when I kiss her she selfishly shuts her eyes into magic. My love.

You,
Who shone a pacific
in your eyes;
Why
let it close
when I gently
wet your lips
with
mine?


There he is. That bold face. I still remember the first time I saw him. Those sumptuous lips which gives out a melody that makes you so wanted.The lips that could dissolve any woman. You should see him stare with those lips, as if he owns everything that ever was and wants nothing from anyone. Sometimes I feel I should leave everything in the world and just sit before him silently gazing into those pouts and I still would find everything I left in the world hidden there. He knows that. That's why, he savours my eyes with an appetite like he wants to gobble it. Such a pity that he can’t taste the splendour of his own lips. And when I see him he selfishly curves his lips into magic. My love.

You,
Who smiled a music
With your lips;
why
let it die
When I fondly
watch your lips
in
love?

A memory of mixed doubles!

Call me fundamental and biased but my interest is human consciousness. I wish to focus this post on two very extraordinary lives. Both, unlikely, unrelated, uncharacteristic yet are the very same, deep inside. Chances are you may know either one of them but not both.
I dare not call them heroes, but yes, they definitely are the masters who show us the value of life and more importantly the human spirit.

First is an Indian, who woke up one night, 20 years ago, to see her entire city devastate before her and a generation mutilated. She had hell for a gift and poison for food. Fate brutally navigated her life into a lament. Destiny deceived her of justice.But she continues to live against a world that failed her. No, she doesn’t know anything about google and She doesn’t care who won the election, but she is no lesser than any so called modern woman. She works six days a week and feeds her ailing husband. A woman of substance.She doesn’t need to watch A Shawshank redemption to be educated about hope because she is Raisa Bi.The woman. And there are many of them.


Raisa bi

Next is an American, twenty four and dead.Long distance runner. He puts into shame every victory built on deliberation.He is remembered, not because he ran but because he ran for a promise he kept to himself-To give anything less than your best is to sacrifice the gift. In both life and death, he never broke that promise. Never did he settle for the second best because he is StevePrefontaine.
I was lucky to be introduced to him very early through the movie Without limits.You may have only heard of the expression guts and glory, he simply lived it. The man.


Pre-fontaine


so long,

Repertoire de vivre

Waiting for my regular chips and cheese burgers, I am writing this on a paper napkin in an outdoor café. Strange, it’s less hectic this evening.
A dull autumn sky slowly pulling a veil of darkness over herself; a silent farewell to light and colour. Scent of dead autumn leaves in the air.
I wet my lips with a sip of steaming coffee. A memory. Of a lingering taste.
As I bring down the cup, I catch a typical coffee cup circle on the tablecloth. Well, almost a circle. It should be termed something, they are so well-known now.
A middle aged English lady in the opposite table. Too much make-up but natural auburn hair. She smiles at me. I return the smile, more earnest than usual. I like auburn.

Salt and vinegar? Familiar voice.
Yes please.

I see the chips before me. Scent of heat, potato and oil. A causeless revolution. Then, the tongue takes over, politely sucking the purpose out of them. Cut.Grind.Chew.Savour.Masticate.Wetted and pushed through by more coffee, waiting to be burnt by acids of the belly. All in silence.

I gaze at the road beside. A silent aging testimonial. Grows steeper and hides into a mystery of a leftish curve.
Two males, well clothed for the impending subzero weather, walking on the pavement.
Something grasps my interest. Something else.
Two figures in front of them.Walking towards the cafe. A small girl, somewhere between six and eight; auburn tresses dangling out of a mauve scarf. Small tiny steps. A divine poetry in motion. A heavy-built man, middle aged. Saying something to her, perhaps a story? Warm tone, heavy accent. Can’t quite make out the words. No reason not to believe they are a daughter and a father. Yes! He is telling a story.
Both look ahead and never at each other. They walk.Telling and told.
Then suddenly, Duuud, she slips and falls, on her belly.
Oblivious, the father strides with his story. A moment is seized into vacancy. An uneducated freeze. The noise of the void in my awed mind.
Life otherwise is the same. The air. The sky. The road. Cars. People. Then the Dad realises her absence just turns back looking for her; she slowly gets up and joins him and he restarts the narration. Nothing. No expedite. No exasperation. No celebration. Not even regret.

Life, naked and virgin.

The mind is grappled in a struggle seeking meaning of the event. Heaven and Hell within the head. An answer no question? Only echoes of nothingness. Embarrassed, the mind turns to the heart for an answer. Heart curves the lips into a smile and conjures an image, a vindication, of the great wave of the ocean, the wave trying to define the accent of the ocean, the wave answering a moon’s prayer. A rise, A subsist and A graceful death. The passionate, sultry, an all knowing laugh of the ocean. A wave that knows the mind of the life.

Lost and found, I smile again, at the lady opposite and take another sip of the coffee, more educated!!
Heart, always is more intelligent than the mind.

Zen and the art of Dishwashing!!

We, the people of our abode, have long back signed a referendum accepting democracy in the kitchen (just in the kitchen). This means, we have a rotation scheme based on our work schedules to fairly share the honours of kitchen-chores; cooking and dishwashing. Cooking an institution by itself is definitely beyond the scope of a blog. Well, dishwashing, being unsung is worth an attempt. Now, as a regular dishwasher, I can say with reasonable conviction that I have, not only mastered the art of dishwashing but also grasped the meaning it has to offer and beyond…….

Yes, dishwashing definitely is an art. It may come in quite handy if you happen to invite some induhviduals(Dilbert term) for a party. Here are few tips from an accomplished dishwasher-

• Always remember, preparation is the key. Never ever think of dishwashing without a kitchen-apron and a pair of polythene gloves. You never know which dunce may choose to save a portion of red wine and you do not want to explain the stain on your favourite T-shirt to all the inquisitive souls.
• A Decent scrub and a strong liquid detergent is a must. If not for the sparkle at least to hear the squeak.
• Never miss an opportunity to dishwash in parts-for as long as human consciousness is concerned, the sum is always greater than the parts.
• Never dishwash in front of others-for A. It is un-british! B If the, observer is astutely virtuous; it exposes your character ruthlessly. Correction .The core of the character.
• Always play soothing background music-preferably instrumental or classical, Radio is too much of a distract, though classic fm is an exception. I am quite used to instrumental movie soundtracks. And strictly no metal.
• Start with the hard ones, strictly by Newton’s Second law…the momentum is bound to wear out; the old greasy cooking dishes first and always in hot water.
• Chinaware, plates, knives, spoons, forks last. In cold water and in that order. Smooth and easy, adds less frustration into your already rosy life.
• Watch out while on the exquisite wine glasses, especially if you have a single set –surely you will be surprised to learn about their price and you have to replace the whole set!
• Remember the golden rule-The plates from peripheries and dishes from the heart.
• While about it, never think. Anything.You will certainly run short of expletives and to no end. Instead think poetry, like this haiku (pardoning one unintended rhyme) I came up on my last session.

Ah! What a limitless fun!
To wet a china, one by one,
The bliss of perfect homerun.

Now to complete the title, the Zen part of it. Nothing profounder than a shallow Zen story.
So, this great king went to the enlightened Zen monk and asked ‘I have everything in my life yet I feel so incomplete’. An all knowing Zen smile lurked on the monk’s face and came the Zen counter question ‘Tell me, have you ever dishwashed?’. ‘Err, no’…and thus the great king realised his folly and attained great salvation after dishwashing the rest of his life.

Now that definitely, is a Dishwashing story but it will never let you go uneducated.
When you dishwash, you wash your precious sins and that of the people you hate, people whom you minutes before, while dining, referred to as tiresome old fools in the sanctity of your mind with a smile on your face. Doesn’t that kill your ego? What better path to salvation, than dishwashing?

Meow , meow …..Ah don’t bother; those are the cats are in my little bag. In these times,you can never be sure - which business might turn into a money spinning entrepreneurship. Can you? So I am just a lil hesitant to let all the cats out of the bag. That should be enough,got to go dishwash now!
From now on folks, never tell nobody taught you dishwashing….go dishwash like your mommas should be proud!

Dishwashingly yours

Moral Absolutes?- Just a version!

Dear L,
As I had promised, I am blogging my perspective in answer to your question on moral absolutes.
The answer is yes and no.
First,If we regard ethics as a concept, an idea, then absolute morality can quite exist. But that would be limited to just an ideal –independent of humanity.Remember your blog of utopian constructs? So ‘murder’ and many more of its colleagues qualify as worthy entities to be discussed the rights and wrongs of them? Which is why, we have Aquinas saying to use ‘just the equal force’ and bible saying to ‘treat thy neighbour as thyself’. Most of such ideals can only be an image, but indispensable one , if you quite, bother to ponder;
Life, sadly in practice, is a value system.
So, if one is committed to moral as a value, then we directly acknowledge that it can be a source of conflict, both in personal and interpersonal interest,which in other words means morals in application are victims of dynamic élan vitale?
But who, then, is the judge of the faithfulness of the morals and its departure from being absolute? – Now, to reflect on that, I would have to borrow heavily from Hegelian dialectics-in one word, Volksgeist.(the spirit of the times).
Morality both, of personal conscience and that of social system is judged by the spirit of the times.-So we have , at times, the system committing value-errors (kindly note the usage, not mistakes.)E.g. Nazism and at times, on an individual level, people swimming against the stream.
Now the value of both such efforts is proved only as the resultant consequence of the acts, so act is a thesis, the counteract the anti-thesis and the consequence the synthesis.(that is so Hegel).So, we had Nixon shown the door, while being the president of USA and Tolstoy let to die in a railway platform.(which the system corrected by paying him added fame).

An easy way to eloborate is to base an example of contemporary political world built on a moral system(value)-
I believe the world is still getting re-organised and coming to terms with the end of the cold war and its overspill. The cold war did end in an abrupt, unexpected anticlimax and it definitely put many people out of their jobs, in different parts of the world. Other spins are just a sop to the stupid Cerberus.
1. (Thesis).- USA, being the greatest power (purely in terms of uranium) was/is just not prepared to handle that status yet, the status to be accountable to the whole world –so it is prone to errors-- as we have just noticed ( both inside and outside)- in all fairness that’s acceptable. To blame someone, just not prepared for your expectation, is foolishness.
2.(Antithesis) At the other end we have the rise of great economies, China especially, and the wise French, making the-la perfecte moves (I can only attribute it to the wine!!).The new world , all hue and cry inclusive from all quarters would be 3.A Synthesis. (June has a futurology version of it!!)
So do we end up in another great war or in a multi-polar world is to be seen……based on emerging morals. .....

That is whole lot of menu, now the supper….. Is there such a thing as a moral absolute? Is there any act that is always wrong no matter what the circumstances?
My take, On an abstract level, yes , lying to oneself , to ignore one's own nature...- glad that it never goes unpunished !!

Well, kindly note, these are just impartial observations- I have used most names here to cite an instance, neither I vouch for any political ideology nor am I a Hegelian!


So long,

How does it feel to be a great genius, Sir?

After all the customary chasing, finally laid my hands on this interesting article in a journal regarding psychopathology in world famous men. The study investigated 291 famous men in the fields of art, science, philosophy, literature, politics and music- based on their biographies-looking into family background, physical health, personality, psycho-sexuality, addictions and mental health. Given the nature of the venture the discrepancies are predictable. But what was surprising was that it concluded heavily against the creative individuals-painters, musicians and especially the writers.Subjects were classified into groups of No/Mild/Marked/Severe psychopathology. The women were not included-(probably strictly by the dictum that no one can figure out the women folks!!).
As Im not very acquainted with the personal lives of some musicians and scientists, I cannot comment much on them and moreover it feels stupid to type 291 proper nouns, however famous they are!

So, some reflects and ricochets,

• Most of the scientists were given a clean chit while Boltzmann Bohr, Mendel Metchnikoff, Galton to quote a few were classified as severe. Surprisingly Schrödinger escaped into the marked group along with Darwin and guess who Pasteur. Osler, Maxwell were amongst those deemed healthy.
• The Musicians I know were placed almost appropriately Tchaikovsky, Wagner, Schumann, Elgar (all severe), Stravinsky, Rossini, Chopin etal (marked) Gershwin, Bizet etc (mild).
• As regarding thinkers- well, expectedly most of the thinkers thought themselves into severe madness. E.g. Comte, Nietzsche, Kierkegaard, Ruskin James, Russell, Toynbee. If James is suspected as severe then Wittgenstein, Jung, (of all), Whitehead, Schopenhauer (all in marked) should also share the honours with him. Seems the benevolence of Schweitzer makes him sane.
• Artists not surprisingly were titrated against their creative potentials. Cezanne, Rivera, Kokoschka, Van Gogh (Psychiatry has exploited this chap!) are branded severely ill while Derain, Sargent, Pissarro Corot are amongst the other end of spectrum.·
• Coming to the politicians, well, probably the most decent classification barring one very big paradox, Gandhi is sane while Nehru is regarded as markedly eccentric.Thats ridiculous(read hilarious) considering, Gandhi publicly threatened to self harm himself on numerous occasions!!!!
• Now the writers-Faulkner,Conrad,Kipling, Gide, Proust,Fitzgerald, Lawrence,Wells, Googol, Waugh, Hesse, Joyce( my all time fav), Kafka, Hemingway, Wilde, Tolstoy-that’s most of my beloved writers and many years of my life. All of them labelled as loonies of extreme degree. Was not unexpected but felt sad somehow. Most of us owe a lot to these guys who have helped us to understand the world we live in better. Evidently not without a price!!

Having said that, I must add that psychiatry has to deal not with equations, codes or diagnoses but with life which by definition is a bias. So……….

While about here, I am reminded of this story about James Joyce and F. Scott Fitzgerald-it seems Fitzgerald worshipped Joyce to an extent that he was reluctant to approach him; On being introduced to Joyce by Sylvia bleach in a party, it seems Fitzgerald knelt down on one knee before Joyce and asked "How does it feel to be a great genius, Sir? I am so excited at seeing you, Sir that I could weep...

Probably the most appropriate reply would be…. ‘Quite crazy son, quite crazy....’’

No surprise both of them went to the severely ill box, Ah! Life is never fair on passion….

So long…

James Joyce

PS: Personal reflect/ Conflict of interest -none declared!!!

Mobile- moi bile?

As if the internet dint suffice the spin doctors have now taken into the mobile communication to campaign their products- last week I had three texts and a call which in all professional euphemism talked about 'certain-options' available.

Well, to confess , I am not in love with my mobile, any mobile for that matter. To me,the only purpose of mobiles is to avoid robinson crusoe situations. Oh , if you are wondering, thats not impossible as well - listen to this- the signal connectivity at my home is pathetic.im stranded in my own place. Its horrible to have a phone with unpredictable connectivity. I end up missing all important calls and have to be stuck at the door between the kitchen and the dining room to maintain a conversation without sayin err waaat ? waaaaaaaaaat? I think we r breaking.......
hmmm, well its not that bad always, it really cums in handy when I want to cut an unwanted conversation , I just say waat waat ? waaaaaat ? n get away with that....
......

Another interesting incident of mobile conversations
I was driving with my supervisor and I got this call.. a lovely female voice

hello?
hello?
yeah?
yeah?
may i know who's this?
is that ubermensch?
Speakin,.. pardon me dunno who's this?
well u know me..ah, can u guess ?
Had my supervisor not been there, I would have said something like oh yeah TRINITY? or something like that.Moreover I had a this vague feeling that my supervisor could make out the conversation effortlessly.
so ,
well im sorry , im not good at guessing, tell me ?
Ah not so soon dear, clue 1..u know me.

I quizzed, well anyone who knew me would be aware I would be on work at that time and moreover they wudnt exactly like being object of my affection the next time we meet. So gotta be sumone else , well the ex-es ? hmmm again slim chance, they wudnt be my ex-es if they loved me so much to play 20 questions over phone!
I thought it was time to cut it and do it without blood.

Im sorry I think there must be some misunderstanding..?
NO, don u remember me... second clue then....

who wud be so juvenile ? I had enuff.

Im sorry ill have to go now please call me later.

I put the thing in its place and focussed staring at the road ahead.

An old friend i said, Perhaps to account myself.

My supervisor replied ' seems u ve got sum admirers' without taking her eyes away from the road .

Kodak moment.!! i was like a breathing beetroot.
.........

Speaking of mobile-conversations, this one I had yesterday should take the cake,
Voice:hello ?
Me: hello ?
Voice:This is XXXX from BMW leeds, im afraid sir, the silver colour is delayed.
Me: er waat?
Voice: Im sorry sir , I know this is frustrating, but please bear with us, ull be driving the car by next week.
Me: er rr... okay .
I must admit that for a moment I pictured myself in the silver BMW (yeah i-pod included) cruising on M6 .
Voice: sir?
Me: I think uve got the wrong number...
Voice:isnt this.....XXXXX?
Me:im afraid its YYYY?
For a brief moment one of those silences often referred as pregnant ensued , with both parties feeling guilty for concieving it. What followed was profuse bleeding of english apologies.

so long,

The glorious mysore palace



golden howdah


Mysore is not just a city, it is a state of mind; it is said that mysore can consume all the coffee in the world, all mysoreans are complusive coffee drinkers.Mysore is a retro version of bangalore- laid back, dreamy, ruthlessly conservative - open for ideas but values are non negotiable,very few cities in the world have as rich a cultural heritage as mysore.
I rememeber all this because today is Dasara- the state festival of mysore. It symobilses the the victory of the good over the evil, the right against the wrong.The celebrations last for 9 nights culminating in the ayudha pooja - the worship of weapons- when all the tools, instruments, are cleaned and worshipped - the last day is the royal dasara procession where the goddess chamundi is carried in a 750 kgs golden howdah from the royal palace around the main streets of the city.
One example where a profound tradition speaks for itself without having the need to raise a hue n cry in front of the Macdonalds

free style

hmmm, fishing out some random thoughts
ego, sex, blog, mind, god, love, no, hell, yes, why? why do all important things are so small.?
.........
Why do I fall in love with strange voices, gwen stefani and mary dolores? Hard to get audio , seldom played on radio
.....................
How many times doesn’t that happen, you have it right in front of you and you cant see it or don’t see it…and when you find out where it was all the time …even a curse sounds a shame. comb, spectackles, keychains are fine but what if it's life..... what if u have your life in front of u and u don see it.....??? There has to be an explanation for such happenings?
……………………………
Rick-shaw. bogartish applecart.light of dawn.8:29am.sloth .ummmmm hmmmmmmm. Open lids, 8:51,rush hurry.brush 20 seconds, shower gruuuuuuuushhhhhh 39 seconds, dress up , where's my matching tie? Shit. Wuff huff , die or lie.wuff huff, skip sandwich. muffin cream on first break okay? Wuff huff run run run, swipe card, yes….made it 8:57 6 minutes new record … hehe congrats, old record kitna? 8 minutes. Next goal: aim for 4 minutes.
Hi….. there…. how u doin?
..............
Why is this always levelled against disciplines that have greater responsibilities to explain the uncertainties? I am sick and tired of people bashing Sigmund Freud and analysis. His was probably one of the imaginative answers supported with decent proof, and If your whole generation develops a defence mechanism for a graded stimulus over aperiod of time and space, what can he do? And why is that analysis is just not forgiven like an old software say windows 97? Is it because it involves your mom? If it’s a yes, you are lying to yourself and your mom.
……………………………..
S P O N T A N E O U S... just the word is so sexy
............
How would you describe that? That slow rendition of stillness, where patterns fold back onto themselves to produce a fleeting moment of completeness, leaving no doors ajar for doubt.I’ve tried to put my best will to pause, regard and feel the intensity of such moments, but every time, I give up, not with a sense of defeat but with an air of accomplishment. It reminds me of being human, and it happens in such variety.Regard this moment, for instance…. …, when u feel love, when you hear her breathing in your face, see her lips waiting for yours and suddenly it’s all vivid, all those asking, searching, reading, thinking… all your life has come to this … all thoughts fall dead and there’s only one impulse, one choice…...have you ever tried to hold back and ask yourself anything? May be you haven’t .May be you know its futile. May be deep down you know are yourself and you don’t have to ask yourself… anything. Incredible.........
............
Even the sun in this part of the world, comes to work early and goes back late, so its bright even most part of the night, from 4 am to 10 pm. Now, that’s a real prick for maniacs like me who grow with darkness. Once I came back dead tired from the work and hit the sack and when I happen to wake up, it was 9’o clock and I didn’t know if it was day or night, damn! if it was day I hadda be in my wards fortunately it was still night.
………………………………………………
hit this site on idiot, absolute delight....very original , zero adverts...

idiot

definitely a must-read for all fundamental idiot fans!
..............
havin this aweful flu for the last two days; in my delirium, tried sleep deprivation with food deprivation for the first time together, 12 hrs was expected, after 20 hrs started hallucinating...guess what???? 100 cigarettes hanging by the air and two hands walking randomly , music in the background...philadelphia title song..... that was lovely, awesome.... must try again but very demanding... research area........
use recycled oxygen....so long,