Mind's a soup. I fell ill you see. Terrible throat. Felt as though I had seven needles in my throat. And now I'm just spending my last day at workplace today. It feels weird, well slightly. I've been here for more than 3 years, I sort of feel institutionalised now. I'll miss a few people, the Red Herring for one and then a few others.
I've asked the Big Surd if I can crash at his place for a few weeks. Will check it out tomorrow. It's in GK -- not very close to new work, but then I guess it'll work alright.
I got my results a few days back. Boy, sheer disappointment. And Delhi University can do this to you -- make you feel miserable for just being associated. I don't know who sits there, but the man has to be some prick. And I'm under a bigger stereotype danger here, and more than the rest of any of you.
I was studying through correspondence. So the dirty minded, arrogant but oblivious, stupid and a queer -- the dork who checks the entire correspondence English papers -- sits there to mark our papers, he obviously thinks that he's checking the papers of the world's biggest idiots: and deep down he's also sensitive to the fact that he is in a twisted way interacting with losers like himself. But he doesn't let that distract him.
So he's careless and starts to give you shit marks. He's already estimated it before he opens the sheet to read. You see in my Romantic paper I got 54, in my Modern Literature I got 62, in my Contemporary Literature paper I got 52, and in my European Drama paper I got 32.
32?
So I've given my paper for revaluation. Went to the college. It's one of the saddest places on Earth, and in case you're in need of a place to feel like shooting yourself or doing friendly hings like that -- come to School of Open Learning, DU. Great place to feel life is shit, you also meet the worst of your kinds, and you really want to die.
Anyway... I'm waiting for a column to come so I can put it on page. Then sit back.

I suppose one of the most brilliant movies I've watched is Shawshank Redemption. There's something in the way Morgan Freeman narrates the story, the simplicity that Tim Robbins seems to polish, and a plot that turns Stephen King truly a genius in front of my eyes. I've watched the movie several time, read the story as well -- and all thanks to the Dude, who eventually got me into watching flicks a whole deal, introduced it first to me.
It's the beauty of the end. The sheer perfectness, the simple accomplishment -- where nothing but a good story can find good rest.
I mentioned it to Dead Flowers once, some while ago, and he told me to follow Prison Break and Oz. Somehow being a hack, I've never able to follow TV like that. But the movie: I mean there's somethings to that film, something really wonderful.
I've passed on this film to a whole lot of people, everyone seems to enjoy it. Some of them aren't great movie watchers. I agree that the movie is actually better than the novella. I even agree with why it's touted as one of the 100 best films of all time.
I'm not very good with tragedy. There's nothing like watching Barry Lyndon, One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest, or even Chinatown. But the end just doesn't do me right. I'm not saying that I want perfect endings, but A Clockwork Orange works fine in the end (although I never liked the original Burgess' ending), doesn't it? I just don't see any catharsis, it only makes me grieve for the character, sometimes loathe it for it's flaw.
If you've watched Allen's Melinda and Melinda, you would know what I mean. The two famous playwrights are questioning the traditional argument: is it tragedy or comedy? Which art is more superior?

I'm bored dear readers. I find myself so very often bored these days, and partially this is one reason I'm writing again. Master and the Margarita, my faithful, humble, dear old bloggie, where I get to hum drum, where I do my crappie talkie, is where I return. So where have I been? Not too far, if we get down to actual distances and scales. My notice is on, while I'm looking around for a place to stay before my new job assembles. It's one end of the town, where I'm told I have to be trained, before I shift to the official badlands, which is another tiny headache.
Life's been inexorably obscure, and hectic, but that in slight relativity. I'm trying to keep the old friends, as I move on to make some new. But existentially speaking, it all seems futile, for what I crave is a bed, and when I prop my tired head on it, all sorts of stories fill the vacuum, and I am unable to sleep. It's when exhaustion comes, that I'm slipped into the sweet realm of obscurity, before I'm woken up to see a steaming tea. When I manage to sip the darn lemon, it's no more than a warm, pointless, tea, quite unbearable, to be honest.
So I've picked on a not-so-very-peculiar hobby of finding good films off lately, and there's a dirty shop, but very conveniently positioned in Pallika, where I suggest you ought to head. The filthy establishment is classy, because hacks of my brood are forever there. The taste of the flick collection is pretty decent. The guy charges 200 buck -- ok, ok, I know you'll say I'm being ripped -- but this guy is very firm and stubborn about his film rates. But it's here that I've discovered Kubrick, Coen Brothers, Polanski, Allen, Godard and Bergman. And this lately expensive obsession is what's treating me so well, for me tell the tale. If you're there that side, check out shop number 34, and it's here where you'll find stuff where I have not been able to find since some while. The asshole at the counter is not the friendliest, but if you show him that you've got a bit of dough, he'll be your lapdog for the hour, and will also take you to his dingy attic and show you where the entire movie booty is.
From the street side book stalls, I picked up Stephen King's Different Seasons, Anne Rice's Body Thief, and Playboy's Book of Wit and Satire, some different stuff to keep the mind in wit, while doing the rounds. Not been very good, but not the worst.

I was tagged by The Stoned Medusa, so here it goes.

1) 3 things you should know about the number three.
Number three means, Wednesdays, and that means a mid-week.
Number three gut is the sidey, right?
Number three makes me think of vague things like this.

2) 3 things that scare me:
Stupid people.
Asshole people.
Speed.

3) 3 people who make me laugh:
Red Herring
Homer Simpson
The Dude

4) 3 things I love:
Movies
Books
Sometimes a j

5) 3 things I hate:
Waking up
Having a cold
Assholes

6) 3 things I don't understand:
Distances
Eating
Bad writing

7) 3 things you should never listen to:
Bad songs
Asshole talk
Bad humour

(Ok I pass it on to: Aaki's Blog, Silver Rings and Blood & Beauty.)

O sweet winter,
Will you become before dinner?
It's in this room, I prepare to die,
Its in this room, I once touched the sky.
And in these hallways, now I stand,
And in these corridors, I just don't understand.
Could it be, will it be,
And everything just slipping from me?
Let's write another love song for Prufrock,
Let's find another mind to unlock.
Let's dream for another city,
Or die in this fool of pity.
And so when will it end?
If life's a journey, I'm on a bend.
But I'll bend like a fountain,
But not stand on a mountain.
But I'll dance with the sisters,
And be polite with all the misters.
For just one more time,
While you listen to my whine.
I'll have another wine,
Just sit and watch all the TV, religion and crime.
But this cigarette doesn't do me good,
And I seem to have left the food.
I'm out on the street,
I forgot who I have to meet.
I think,
But I like to drink.
We just hide in the corners of our minds,
And they're just too many of their kinds.
They mock,
But they're empty as a Christian sock.
We're only drifters in a maze,
Just attending theatre for plays.
We're down and out,
We have no clout.
O darn summer,
Don't you hear their soft murmur.
O sweet winter,
Will you become before dinner?

So what's it going to be then, eh?

So I haven't been writing. It's been a quite hectic enough though, I've put in my papers, I'm serving my one month of notice period here. There's been a heap load of production at work, and since the department is nicely crumbling, I've been at it since the last week. I'll be out of print for a while now as I'm headed to run headless in TV.
And leaving this place is quite sad, but there are some people who are making it quite terrible for me. But I won't get into that, just that sometimes seniors behave terribly. It really strikes badly, you see, if you're at one place for a reasonably long time, its very sad to see people just turning, but then one musn't expect too much. I don't know their reasons, but well I won't say anything.
So I met a pretty penguin last evening who said that she's been reading my blog, and she knows who I am, and which was very scary to know. So that's it now: the secrets all gone. You see the roving eye of the the publishing world has finally cast its glance at the page. But all I am quibbling about is why didn't you say so before: now I would have started to write more properly a long time ago, and er well not on all that satire.
And well if it was not for that casual remark, I may have written on all that happened, and what I saw, at the penguins march last evening, oh lord. So a lots been happening, yes, yes, I know India won quite remarkably last evening. But that apart, you know how the whole drill goes. Music reviews, drinks, js, movies, bad writing, depression, eyes, dreams, cold, cigarettes, autos, fingers, Facebook vampires, and all that jazz and blues.
But now you see I have turn more respectable here, more responsible, cut down on those cuss words and the slur, and sharper. But O lord, it doesn't seem to be happening so well.
But I really do hope to write longer and smarter pieces the minute I step into TV (I actually hope to save a bit of time), I mean time to write stuff I've been meaning to. (A correction: write longer peices for other sources, if I can.)
The whole drill of writing 350 words getting slashed to 210 is overwhelmingly disheartening, and I can't cuss about it, but its a bitch. Otherwise, Orwell.
So what's it going to be then, eh?

Not that it really matters, but I hope to be writing soon.

1) I've left my job.
2) I've got a new job.
3) I've to look for a new place.
4) I've got a bad throat.
5) I don't know what to write about.
6) I don't know what to read.
7) I'm not even bored, I'm just existing.
8) I'm conveniently selfish.
9) Alcohol is redundant on me.
10) I'm great to be known, no more.