Tuesday, 30 December 2008

one of the things about reading the blogs of family (by this, of course, i mean cousins), i have found, is the tendency to think about the same types of things. there was a post by sita on missing hyderabad, one by swaroop on the madras season that i really liked, and one by suhas on the perils of eating alone that i only fully understood the day before yesterday. despite this, i am still going to write about my experience in madras so far.

the automen who fleece you in broad daylight are now part of the landscape. i'm slowly beginning to learn the art of haggling with them, but the emphasis is on slowly. i got off the train and i just couldn't be bothered. ended up paying 150 rupees for an auto from egmore to alwarpet. seriously sad.

beginning to love the admittedly bad horrible tea at the academy. especially in the middle of a not very exciting concert. appa got season tickets this year, so the waiting in queue for the tickets is eliminated. i still have to wait in line for the actual concert, though.

bookshops have not changed. still just as gigantic as the day i first walked into them.

went to both the t m krishna and the sanjay subramaniam concerts at the academy. i dont know about better, but i definitely like sanjay's style more. it's obvious he has fun. tm krishna sings seriously. it wouldn't kill him to smile just for the heck of it. really liked the ritigowla kriti he sang yesterday. perhaps because i actually understood the words this time.

to understand the taniavartanam one must first learn the language of the mridangam. swaroop pointed out to me yesterday that the guy was playing the same thing again and again, only he was playing it faster each time. i didn't understand it at all until he told me, and only a little bit after he did. oh well, i'm sure i willl understand more given lots of listens.

Kacheris, food, and
bookshops galore, but still, no
sign of a result.

Wednesday, 24 December 2008

it's a small, continuous whine in the back of my head, like an ambulance or a fire truck siren three roads away but getting closer. you know that it'll get here, you're just waiting for it to happen. to rush past you, while you get just a glimpse of the terrific speed and energy contained within it. i'm going to madras, to listen to some kacheris, to dash madly from one sabha to another, and hopefully immeres myself fully enough in carnatic music that i will, for once in my life, be able to recongnise the raga without someone having to tell me. but before i go, there is all this random studying i have to do. bah.

Monday, 15 December 2008

Exams in a month
Cambridge results in three weeks
The work starts right now

Thursday, 11 December 2008

I've never been so nervous. In my entire sixteen years on this planet, I have never been so bloody nervous as I was yesterday. Fuck, I was scared shitless. After school, on the train, the butterflies in my stomach probably caused an existential storm somewhere out there. Then, I got off the train. And it all disappeared. There was a smile on my lips. Somehow, I was feeling better.
I walked to the college, and managed to find some quite nice people. It's really nice, is Cambridge. People are nice, and the place is really quite beautiful.
And the interviews went well. And so did the TSA. All that's left is luck.
Fuck. I have never wanted something as much as I want this. 

*
I fell out of love today. I left Cambridge, and slowly, but surely, I got nervous again. More bloody butterflies. And for the first time, the Tube was slow. It takes three, maybe four minutes between stops on average. That's never changed. But today was the first day that I felt all of the three minutes between one stop and the next. Maybe the butterflies will go away. I sure hope so. But coming to London won't be the same anymore. It'll still be cool. It'll be where all the bookshops are. It'll be where I had my sixteenth birthday. It's just not Cambridge.
Oh come on. Please, people who live in the sky, give me a seat. I will be forever grateful.

Tuesday, 9 December 2008

"twenty twenty twenty four hours to go
i wanna be sedated
nothin to do nowhere to go
i wanna be sedated"

i wanna be sedated
the ramones

Sunday, 30 November 2008

sore throats suck. every time you breathe, or swallow, or talk, or do anything involving your throat, it hurts.

Monday, 17 November 2008

Just

I just want to
Go home, and forget.
Not have to think about exams,
Or university,
Or the rest of my life.
Just go home.
And maybe sleep.
On the terrace, on the veranda,
On the swing,
Sleep, and not worry.
Not care about life.
Just forget
About economics
(Seriously, who cares about money?
No one this, or in fact any,
Side of the Suez Canal)
Just leave.
Go for a walk,
And not have to go anywhere,
To go for a walk, and,
At the end of it,
Arrive at my destination
Not having accomplished anything.
Just sit, and stare into space.
Make up bad stories
About 2-D characters
Who crack even worse jokes,
And lead non-existent,
Easy, and perfectly fixable lives.
Just dream,
And not have to realise
That they will, actually,
Never ever happen.
Just stop,
And not have to start,
Forever.
Just.

Saturday, 15 November 2008

Contrast: Our world has
Children, smiling and laughing,
And mass starvation
With all the power
And profundity of a
Kiteless, Cloudless Sky

Thursday, 13 November 2008

Death, like a Raven,
Swooping down on its carefree,
Unsuspecting prey

Monday, 10 November 2008

An unused keyboard,
And a Word document that's
As blank as my mind

Monday, 27 October 2008

read all random conversations here
________________________________________________

'Where's he gone now?'

'Toilet.'

'Abba! We're already late. Interval must have finished by now.'

'It's not as if there's anything exciting happening in the movie. And anyway-'

'And anyway what?'

'Dude. Ok, don't turn around, but look right next to the popcorn cart thing.'

'Huh?'

'Dude! There, right next to-'

'Oh, fuck.'

'Don't swear.'

'Almighty flying fuck. Underground torpedo fuck even.'

'Dude, you do not know how to swear. Please stop trying. But yeah, fuck.'

'Hey, I'm back, what did I miss?'

'Next to the popcorn.'

'Oh goooaaad!'

'Exactly.'

'What did I do in my life to be treated in this horrible way? I mean, there has got to be some sort of fairness in this world.'

'Ummm, you went out with her.'

'Then you dumped her.'

'And then went out with her best friend.'

'Who you also dumped.'

'Dude, whom you also dumped.'

'Whatever. And now she's here, watching, this is actually quite funny, watching a film where the hero breaks the hearts of two of the heroines. So I'd say this is quite fair.'

'This is, in fact, hilarious. We should make our lives into a TV serial.'

'Yeah, like Friends. We'll call this episode "The One Where Pranita Returns!'

'OH SHIT! She's seen me.'

'OK, dude, if anything happens, we don't know you.'

'Fuck you. Do something.'

'HAHAHAHA. She's coming towards us.'

'Ok Ok, I'll talk to her.'

'But you don't even know her!'

'Well, since you don't want to talk to her, and the last girl this fellow talked to is still recovering in a mental hospital, I'm the only person here to do this.'

'OK, how about, SHE DOESN'T KNOW YOU!'

'Who cares? Let him talk to her, and if she gets totally creeped out, then she definitely won't talk to you. And the last girl I talked was perfectly fine. In fact, I'm going to watch a movie with her on Thursday.'

'WHAT!? Y-y-yyyyou're going on a date?'

'Ok, we'll talk about this later. Operation: Distract Pranita happens now.'

__________________________________________________________

what i'm hoping to do is just create snapshots of these three nameless peoples lives. verbal images, that sort of thing. i also didn't realise this until oh, say three minutes ago? anyway, i had a lot of fun writing this. i could so see this happening in my head. I wanted to introduce  a fourth character, but then i decided that this was already too long. next time, maybe. what i really like about the conversations is that they never take me more than ten twelve minutes to write, unlike this other story im working on, which ive been writing for the last month, and ive got about an eighth of the way in

Friday, 24 October 2008

Revelation:
Humour is about realising the we have too much context and too little information about humanity.

Thursday, 16 October 2008

my life needs rear-view mirrors

Wednesday, 15 October 2008

Information is
Never enough for any
One, until it hurts

Saturday, 11 October 2008

i've only just realised, i started blogging last august.

my blog turned a year old three months ago, and i had no idea

shows how much i care :p

Wednesday, 8 October 2008

Information Theory

There is no such information that is bad information. Bad information is a myth. There is true information, there is false information. There is no 'bad' information, how can there be? What can be bad is bats, or people, or material possessions. How can information be bad? Or, for that matter, how can it be good? It is just there, waiting to be discovered, waiting to be found out.

All that information is, is dangerous. It is the most perfect weapon. Information, whether true or false is always dangerous, with one requirement. Information, to be dangerous, must have context. All useful information is dangerous, and has context. Useless information is not dangerous only so long as it has no context, when it achieves context, it becomes dangerous, becomes useful.

Take two seperate pieces of information.
There is a man called Peter John Kay, who is addicted to cocaine (Lots of people are addicted to cocaine, it is sad but it is true).
There is a man called Peter John Kay, and his father is the Prime Mister (Being the Prime Mister doesn't mean you're not allowed to procreate, what's your point?).

Waitaminnit.

Taken seperately, these two facts give you nothing. Together, they make you the holder of a secret that can break Government. Does it matter whether the information is true or not? If enough people believe it, no. If enough people think you are famous, it stops mattering that you actually aren't.

But if you're in the minority, if you're the only person who knows that the son of the Prime Mister is addicted to crack, it doesn't really make a difference. Everyone  knows that he's not on drugs. He's such a nice boy. How dare you say something like that?

Information is dangerous, whether true or false. What matters is the number of people that believe that information. This can, obviously, change pretty rapidly. This is the reality.

Sunday, 28 September 2008

Poetry, Apparently

I went on a school trip to Geneva last weekend, was really good fun. took lots and lots of photos. On the other hand, 'twasn't as awesome as I thought it would be, somehow. I'd built it up to be some sort of life changing experience, and in the days before the trip, listening to friends go on about how much fun Geneva was going to be, I couldn't help but feel a vague sense of unease that it wouldn't quite live up to my expectations.
In counterpoint to that (seeing as how I've already used the phrase "On the other hand"), I went to the Lake district this weekend, again with school. This was a lot more fun that I thought it would be, seeing as how I hadn't really thought about it that much, overshadowed as it was by Geneva. We saw Dove cottage, where Wordsworth wrote a lot of his poems. We also climbed the mountain that Wordsworth and Coleridge used to climb alot, called Helvellyn, and it was a really nice and sunny day, which was really cool. I even played the wooden flute that Swaroop gave me on the top.
After we got back to the youth hostel (even though everyone there except our group was over the age of sixty), the teachers made us sit and write poetry. I have decided that since I've written three, I may as well inflict it on you.


Poetry, Apparently
Beware, dear reader
Of poetry horrific
Such as what follows


To walk alone is to think,
To consider the possibilities of time.
'Tis an exercise in patience,
and needs neither reason nor rhyme.


To walk alone is to imagine
The world as a wholly different place
As somewhere that will never be Here,
But still possessing beauty and grace


She walks alone, like the night
Said a poet long ago
Or something like that, anyway
Who she was, I do not know


But if she walked without company
Where was she going, tell me, pray?
Was she another wanderer?
Did she, like me, not know the way?


To find a worthy destination,
Would that not be the goal
Of every single nomad who
Seeked out lodgings that warmed the soul


Walking alone is
Leaving home and finding it,
With inspiration


'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves (Or, The dropping of an orange)
'Twas much fun climbing 
The mountain today, we
Generally talked about stuff,
And the sunset was beautiful.


'Twas very nice, seeing 
The hilltops and valleys
From the summit of some dead
Poet's inspirational place


'Twas quite interesting
The site where the first plane
That landed on the countryside in
England, and the dropping of that orange.


Why, was it not
An exciting adventure,
Can we go again?


Haiku
Haiku is much fun
'Specially since there's no rhyme
I like it a lot


Epilogue
Blogger is weird
Enter must be pressed twice for
A line to be formed

also, does anyone know where i can find out what jagadanandakaraka means? listening to too much M S lately, need some other music in my life...

Sunday, 14 September 2008

Inspiration is a funny thing. It comes and it goes, and after it's gone you're never really sure why it came in the first place. You think 'Hey, that's a good idea. I could write really well about that.' And then you discover that what you thought you were going to write changes totally. The number of times I have written something that I didn't want to write is quite painful. You know exactly where the story is going to go, you just don't have a clue about how its going to get there. Most of my stories have come about as I try to assemble a larger one. In the BFG, when he mixes all the dreams together, the useless bits fly away. Sadly, these are the bits that finally get posted. The actual story still lies in my mind, too scared to be expressed in case it changes on the way, becomes something other than what I intended. Like Anandanna says on his (now dead) blog,
“Words do not express thoughts very well. They always become a little different immediately after they are expressed, a little distorted, a little foolish.” -- Hermann Hesse
But sometimes, when I don't think enough about my inspiration, when I am serendipitous enough to be creative just when I am in front of the computer,  magical things happen. I know this. The first sci-fi story was one of those moments. Neither of my articles needed more than half an hour in front of my computer to write, but they're much better than, for example, the God post below this one. Possibly because I sat on it for a while. I wrote down my thoughts, and waited for the right moment to write it. It turned out much worse than the perfect thing in my mind, but I've already used the idea. I'm not goint to rewrite it.
This is another thing that I'm writing not because of any external force, but because my head has too much creativity in it, and it needs to let off some steam. I both love and dread these moments, when my fingers fly across the keyboard, saying god knows what.

My head is finally clear, and hopefully this moment will come again, where I look at the computer and think, 'I need to write'. There is a lot I want to say, but there are no words and no languages to say it in. This blog, I have realised, is an exercise in serendipity, so that I can write mad things without having to think about anything else. Tis quite sad that there is a four thousand character limit on my statement of purpose, because there is now an infinity of thought that has to be compressed into a finity of space. Meaning that there are so many viewpoints to be expressed, so many stories to be told, that I have almost given up.

This is my offical statement saying that I've given up on my last sci fi thing. It'll still exist, but its for you to say where they've gone. On the other hand, I'm going to try and write more sci-fi. There isn't much else I can write, and

Ok, I ran out of steam there. I have to go rad some more and think some more before my next post. But it is happening. It is happening.

Wednesday, 10 September 2008

HWAHA!

though this blog has been online for a year, it is only now that it is gaining the attantion that it deserves. by next year, i will be king of the world!
no, not really. i'd settle for india. or even japan. what about sri lanka? or even lakshwadeep would be enough.

anyway, i have been awarded some award thing! before i fulfil the terms of this agreement, im going to note a few points about this award.

though the aim is to increase the number of people reading blogs (and a very good aim it is, too. lots of blogs i have discovered iver the past few weeks that i really like now through people i know. i tend not to click on the links page. i dunno why), what i suspect will happen is that eventually a closed loop will form. while newer blogs are found, i think it relies too much on the seven degrees of seperation theory, and doesnt  take into account the fact that im probably going to give it back to people who've already got it anyway. which is probably why if you look at my links bar, you'll find a list of people who i wouldve awarded it to. there isnt really anyone else, except a dead blog that i found two days before it died
economicobjectorvism.blogspot.com is an awesome website, only it died quite a while back. which is quite sad.

_______________________________________________________

number two thing to write about is a totally awesome game called team fortress two. seriously, it is absolutely amazing. it has restored my faith in my ability to play non strategy computer games. i fully recommend it to anyone who has access to a decent games shop and a fast internet connection.

there is a reason i have not blogged about this before. that is because i only truly succeeded at the game a few days ago. there are nine classes in the game. nine different distinct personalities to play as (if you go search for meet the team on google, you will come up with some extremely funny videos). nine seperate strategies, each an art that requires hours of practice to perfect.

chances are, one of the nine will suit you.

mine was the pyro. the flamethrower, what a weapon. the best class in the whole game. sure, the heavy lets you kill people indiscriminately, the spy's backstab is the best attack there is, but it takes real patience to play the pyro. patience that i don't have, mind you. im very happy to go try and burn someone alive and get killed in the process. what playing pyro is really about is waiting in the corner for someone to arrive, and then roasting them to death. and im writing about playing this game why? because of two main reasons.

1) i recently unlocked all three weapons for the pyro. theres an achievements page, and if you complete enough, you get special weapons. let me tell you, the weapons really made my day. my flamethrower now deals critical hits if i manage to attack from behind. i now have a flare gun that sets people on fire if it connects. my axe always crits if i hit a burning opponent. i am now good at this game. its amazing how often i still get killed. its an occupational hazard.

2) i found a video on the net. it is brilliant. the music is just ..... the justness of it can't be explained. its called ignis solus, which can be loosely translated as the solitary flame. it transcends the game, it is a brilliant piece of machinima ( a term i have had to go research, BTW). it can be found here. be warned though, you need Divx player installed to watch it. i got it off the website for free.

so there you have it.

good night world.

Wednesday, 3 September 2008

This is probably my first attempt at taking myself seriously and writing. I still feeling like I'm breaking some kind of law here. because of this, i will probably ramble a lot. pliss bear with me.
________________________________________
Popularly, there are two economic ideologies, and somewhere in between is the compromise that each country makes with them. Both systems have their strengths and weaknesses, their flaws and their merits. While I firmly believe that the mixed economy is the best system, I will write about why I believe that Socialism (which is different from communism, in the way that, perhaps, parody is different from satire. They may be similar, but the end result is different, satire is a more powerful form of literature, but that much more difficult to write.) is a better system than capitalism.

Socialism is, by name, taken from the words social, and society. It does not, like capitalism, promote the individual, it promotes the collective. It staunchly believes in 'The Greater Good', which is a brilliant idea in theory but takes enormous will power to actually put into practice. By definition, there is no unemployment, no cycle of boom and bust, no uncertainty about the future. It is the labourers who are protected here, and there is no discrimination in Socialistia (Socialistan? The United States of Socialist Regimes?), and everyone gets an opportunity to help each other.

Capitalism, on the other hand, firmly uplifts the individual. It encourages the entrepreneur, the innovator, to keep his work to himself. It uses the idea of competition to ensure that the best and most efficient product will always win out, and furthers the progress of the economy by relying on several key factors which must work together. While Socialism eventually becomes one big collective, resulting in a unity of many, capitalism, for all its emphasis on individuality, eventually relies on the consumers and the firms, the government and the banks, all to function well if stable growth is to be achieved.

The flaw of Socialism is, of course, the concentration of power. It must be understood that this is a risk, it is a temptation. While the majority will succumb, there will always be those who do not. The power of Socialism relies on the favorite mechanism of the Capitalists, that they must risk that a Vetinari will come along and help the city flourish. This concentration inevitably produces its share of dictators, but it is not the nature of the system that creates them, it is the nature of the individuals in that system. It is wrong to generalise the system and say that all Socialist (or even Communist) regimes (for what else can it be, but a kingdom under a king? Remember, there were once just kings, who ruled from under a tree. The only difference between Carrot and Vetinari is that their methods are different. Their aim is the same) lack freedom. I still cannot see why freedom, and equality cannot flourish under a dictator. Didn't Akbar encourage liberty? Didn't Ashoka, a thousand years before him, pass laws that ensured equalities among citizens? Was it not the fact that he was king that allowed him to do so?

The government, the State, tells the people what to do, that is true. It lays down laws, and ensures that they are followed. On the other hand it does not mean, that the people just do only what the State tells them to do. Once their duty is fulfilled, they can do whatever they like. This is what, I think, people forget. That it is possible for someone in Socialistan to do one's duty and do other things as well.

Monday, 1 September 2008

'HAHAHAHAHAHA'

'Whatwhatwhat?'

'No, I was just looking through this fellow's itouch history. It's hilarious.'

'DUDE! Shut up. If you say anything at all it will hinder your ability to ever reproduce.'

'No seriously- OWW!'

'Arre! Don't hit him, I want to know.'

'Eh shut up ya'

'Right, seriously. The last site he -Stop hitting me! He'll get to know anyway!'

'Just tell me.'

'Right, get ready to hear this. Pranita-'

'What, that girl from-'

'HOW DOES IT MATTER WHERE SHE'S FROM?'

'Yeah, that girl. Anyway, apparently she has a blog. And our man has turned into a cyber stalker.'

'I am not a cyber stalker.'

'Why is he a cyber stalker?'

'Because he has sat here for the last four hours and read every single post on her blog. Two years' worth of content, seriously.'

'Ouch, dude.'

'Shut up. I've only been here an hour.'

'Suuure. That's why you have three cappucinos in front of you. Each of which take you about an hour to drink. Anyway, apparently two of her favourite sites are called Greatbong dot net and Imam Wapsoro's Lounge'

'Dude! You're going out with a muslim stoner chick!'

'Fuck you. First of all, she can't be muslim with a name like Pranita. Secondly, I'm not going out with her!'

'Yeah, we totally believe you.'

'Oh just shut up already'

Thursday, 14 August 2008

yay
fucked
three a's and a B
how am i going to go on with my life now?

Wednesday, 13 August 2008

So, after three weeks in India, on my (potentially) last day of happiness, i am now bored enough to write about my life again.

I've realised the my view of england has gone down the more time i've spent here. in the first week its was' Yeah I really like the life/experience/lack of power cuts there.'. in the second week it was 'Its quite good, you know?  nice place nice people, that sort of thing.' last week, it was' i mean its OK, i suppose. the food is crap, and im beginning to realise that with no one to talk to in telugu my already horrible accent has become even worse, but its interesting.' now its 'fuck. i dont want to go back. why am i going back?'
there are a few advantages. the super broadband connections that mean i can play team fortress two whenever i like. the power shower that i can stand under for ever. the.... im sure it'll come back to me once i go back.
i went to madras a week ago. again, my recent experience has only reconfirmed my impression that madras is far superior to hyderabad in an infinite number of ways, though i suspect that that wouldn't be the case if i had lived there for the last fifteen years. but the food is superior in almost every way (how can one argue with saravanabhavan?), and the bookshops are much bigger.
what i do miss is the fact that im less comfortable in india. i have no idea when my friends have tuition, and more often than not end up not seeing them. im hoping that some of them will come on fifteenth, because otherwise i will be terribly disappointed.
i haved had fever for the last two days. shivers, vomiting, diarrhoea (proof that the english language is stupid. why cant it just be diyarea?) the whole lot. have recovered just enough to face my marks tomorrow. badly need a haircut, but i cant be bothered to go get one.
have started driving lessons, though what purpose that serves, dont ask me. i cant get a license here until im eighteen, and i cant start learning in the UK before im seventeen, so its all a bit pointless. but i have how to succesfully do that clutch/accelerator manouvre to get the car to move, so i must be doing something right.
success! (generally, in life. before i get my marks, anyway.)

Monday, 28 July 2008

'You total idiots!'

'Hey, I didn't do anything. I was just standing there.'

'My foot. Random humming of 'Georgie Porgie' just happened to happen-'

'Umm, dude, "happened to happen"? Not the best english.'

'Whatever! Random humming of nursery rhymes while I'm trying to talk to-'

'Trying to talk? I'm guessing by that you mean hinting to the guy next to her that your rubber fell next to her shoe?'

'Stop bloody interrupting me! I-'

'Full bloody and all huh? Our man has finally started swearing.'

'That's only because she's still in earshot. He thinks it'll make him sound cool.'

'Am I going to be allowed to speak or what?'

'As long as it's not about her hair.'

'Or her eyes.'

'And definitely not her intellectual capabilities.'

'Or lack of them.'

'Shut up.'

'Ok ya, I have to go, my mom's calling.'

'Shut up. You're going to meet Pranita'

'What, that girl from LFJC?'

'How does it matter where she's from?'

'So you agree you're going to meet her?'

'I didn't say that!'

'Suuuure you didn't.'

'You just implied it.'

'If you don't shut your mouth I will start swearing at you.'

'Whatever. Because we're terrified of your swearing capabilities. Facebook me about the encounter.'

'Encounter? That's probably true actually.'

'Fucking mother-'

'OK OK, we get the idea. Go meet your Juliet.'

'It'll probably end up like they did. He'll commit suicide as soon as he realises she doesn't notice him'

'That isn't how the story goes.'

'Course it is. He's a nerd, she's a total hottie, she walks by him ever day without noticing him, he gets depressed, kills himself, leaves a suicide note, girl gets depressed, gets over it, and moves on with her life.'

'You're fucking depressing ya.'

'I just tell it like it is.'

'Wogay. I see my auto, I have to go.'

'Yeah, bye.'

_____________________________________________

what what what?
do you understand it? because i sure as hell don't.

Saturday, 19 July 2008

Quis custodiet ipsos custodes? or, Who watches the watchmen?

i went to london two days ago, and came back only today

while there, i read Alan Moore's Watchmen. I have accepted that neil gaiman is not a freak, and that good, adult graphic novels, while not very common, still do get published from time to time, especialy when given the right author. Alan Moore is one of these. This is not just a book. this is a political commentary as interesting and engaging as any prose ever written, only given life with pictures.

it starts off, in the 1980s, with the death of a man. a 'costumed adventurer' investigates, despite the authorities' best efforts to keep it quiet. and so it begins.

we discover that the superheroes have largely retired, hung up their capes and tights and moved on. the world's most intelligent man is now among its wealthiest, having exploited his past as a superhero into a TV show, a toy line, and various other activities. the nuclear accident is now working for the american government, apparently protecting the american government from nuclear retaliation from the russians. laws have been passed that restrict the movement of superheroes not answering to the government. and Moore uses all of this to tell us not only an extremely compelling story, but also show us society, and ensures that it remains as valid now as it did then.

but let us not kid ourselves. this is still a comic book in the classic sense. there are crime-fighting superheroes, tremendous back stories, innumerable conspiracy theories, and mysterious killers. but there is more to it than that. it is about a choice, and the notion of 'the greater good'. the sacrifice of a few for the benefit of the many. and which ends justify means, and which don't.

go, I say. go and find the book, and read it. you dont even have to buy it. just read it.

Monday, 14 July 2008

'OH MY GOD! I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU DID THIS TO ME! AGAIN! FOR THE FIFTH TIME!
EVEN AFTER I REVIVED YOU USING THE ILLEGAL BRAIN TRANSPLANT FROM MY FAKE FATHER'S CLONE, YOU STILL CHEATED ON ME!'

'Look honey, we didn't mean to hurt you! It was just a thing, I swear! It just - you know - I was recovering in the hospital, and you were away fighting that lawsuit against your half-sister's surrogate mother, and I didn't have anyone to talk to, and she had a desmoplastic small round cell tumor! She was going to die, slowly and painfully, without anyone in the world. Do you know how horrible that can be?'

'I KNEW I SHOULD HAVE LISTENED TO MY MOTHER! AFTER MY SIXTH DIVORCE I FINALLY THOUGHT I HAD FOUND THE ONE! BUT NO, YOU HAD TO GO SPOIL IT FOR ME!'

'Try to understand! I was lonely, she was there! I had just been told that my father was actually my mother! And that the woman I thought was my mother was actually my grandfathers mistress from Spain! I was in a terrible situation!'

'Stop making excuses! You always cheat, and you always will! You even did it when you were in a coma because you had a dream where everyone you knew died and it caused a rapid demolecularisation of your myocardium!'

'That was not my fault! You keep throwing this in my face! I was in a coma, and a nymphomaniac nurse managed to take advantage of me and got pregnant!'

'WHAT? SHE GOT PREGNANT AND YOU DIDN'T TELL ME ABOUT IT? I TOLD YOU EVERYTHING!'

___________________________________________________________

my sad attempt at writing soap opera
i hope you hate it!

Wednesday, 2 July 2008

Went to Cambridge this weekend. Very awesome place, i must say. the bookshops are just &%^$ing huuuge. plus it's almost impossible to get lost. basically, I went to Eshwar's graduation, and while his family went to his graduation ceremony, i masqueraded as a cambridge student and got to see half a dozen colleges.
my favourite going in was St. John's, simply because it was rich, and the bridge of sighs looked cool. but then I actually got there, and what i ended up with was a bunch of buildings. not as exciting as i'd hoped.
unlike my current favourite, Gonville and Cauis (apparently pronounced "keys"). because when you walk in, you get a cosy quad, with lots of greenery, and you only see the gardens once you go out back. so that was quite cool.
_______________________________________________
listened to rahmans new hindi album, jaane tu ya jaane na. its really strange, because in the track that he's trying to sing jazz, he starts of really badly and then redeems himself as it goes on. i really liked 'kabhi kabhi aditi', though. it, the album, not the song, isn't as good as i'd hoped, but its a new direction for rahman (thats only my opinion, though. its totally possible rahman's done jazz before, in which case this album is inferior.)
am currently listening to a cd of ms that was lying around the house. i got really excited when i discovered that jo achyutananda was on the cd, then i discovered that its actually a tamil version of the song, which seriously disappointed me. still, nice music.
on a similar note, im running out of space on my ipod.
i need a new one.
i am also broke.
how much does one of those new classics cost in india?
____________________________
im currently reading ' the worldly philosophers' by robert heilbroner. in the process of discovering exactly how pathetic my knolledge of oikonomikos is. but an awesome book, nonetheless.
recently read simplexity, by jeffrey kluger. on the lines of freakonomics, and almost as good a book.
on the fiction side, i read garth nix's superior saturday. its a childrens series. the new artemis fowl is releasing, and so is the next percy jackson. im hoping that i dont lose touch with these kind of books, but there are some books that i just dont like. like those sad cherub books. and alex rider, what a sad franchise. though i shouldn't really complain, im the one who went and bought all the ultimate spiderman novels for his birthday.
____________________________
tha's abou' i', really
yay for me

Friday, 27 June 2008

OIKONOMIKOS

I resent that people think economics is ‘about money’. It’s not. Economics is about human behaviour. It is the study of scarce resources. Economics becomes about money because the only way to measure scarcity is to determine the value of the resource, and price is the only function of value that does that. But economics is about the choices that individuals must make because of scarcity. The Greek word Oikonomikos, from which economics is descended, means household management. But I propose that since economics is about how people behave, the Greek root should be ethika, which means the way that people behave. But that word has been stolen. Anglicised, it means ethics (fairly obvious, really), which is a code by which people should behave. I resent that, too. But anyhoo, this is my theory.

Whatsay?

Friday, 30 May 2008


It had been a long and bloody fight. Not really a battle, which required more than just a hero and villain and the most glorious vista the world could offer. A fight, albeit one between some ultra-highly trained death guards and a bunch of farmers. Put that way, it sounds like a massacre.

But that’s not the point. The point was that it had been long, and it had been bloody. They were losing (the heroes were always losing). And they were waiting, for the saviour they knew had to be coming. Why else would they be there?

So there they were, with their swords and their shields and their bows and their arrows. Fighting until each one’s last breath. That was written down somewhere. Everyone who was anyone knew they had to fight till their last breath. And their spears and their scythes and all their exotic weaponry would not be for nothing. No, they would fight, until their saviour arrived.

‘Give it up’, He said. (He being the Great Enemy, for whom victory would mean Power, over whatever he wanted power over. The world, perhaps. Or maybe some cheesecake).
‘Your commander is dead. You cannot win.’
‘What? Do you believe that he would not be here? He is the Chosen One! He will defeat you!’ said some voice in the crowd. ‘He knows these lands better than anyone. He lived here, but he will not die here.’
As always, this battlefield was the home of the hero. It always was. Either it was his, or it was the castle from which the Enemy reigned. It just came to pass that this time; the battlefields were the meadows and hills of the peasant-hero, who did nothing wrong until he found a golden sword somewhere. Or a shield. Or was it a magic cup, the one from which the God of the Earth had drunk some three millennia ago? It always became blurry after five days of fighting the Great Enemy, without anything except hope. Wait, maybe it was the ring that his betrothed-

No, it didn’t really matter. Some lucky (or depending on how you looked at it, unlucky) individual got stuck with carrying out the will of the Gods (or the mystical Earth-Spirit. Or the supernatural Love/Freedom/Forest ghost-being-thing), and only then would he find out that he was the long lost son of some mystical clan.

So as the Enemy’s forces prepared to rain down their last volley of flaming arrows, blessed by their dark ritual monster-daemon-things, finally, the Hero arrived.

On a white horse.

Wearing a clean shirt. Not to mention a pristine pair of trousers.

With the most immaculate haircut the world had ever seen.

No, he didn’t look like someone who had spent the last four days fighting for some ideal. He looked like he had spent the last four days in a hotel, organising some idiotic band to come and play for his grand finale, because there was no way the soundtrack coming from between the hills just happened to be there.

And as one individual (most surely one of the dumbest metaphors invented by authorkind; how in the world would lots and lots of tired people suddenly decide to coordinate their actions?), the forces of the Good (as opposed to those of the Bad, and most definitely the Ugly, because whoever heard of a beautiful ogre?) rose up, ripped the Hero to pieces, explained to the Villain exactly where He could shove his “Power”, and proceeded to weed every single golden sword, shield, bow, arrow, scimitar and wonky lopsided figurine out of the earth and dump them in the landfill on the other side of the hills and the meadows, and continued with their relatively normal lives.

And every time anyone got engaged, they would be read their statutory rights, and be ordered to spend a night in jail and three in a psychiatric institution, just so that they would understand that no one would tolerate any sort of silly promise making.

______________________________________________

i don't really know where that came from, but i do have a vague memory of a dream where i was fighting some battle against some idiot, only for a hero to arrive and steal my thunder. this hero may or may not have looked like patrick dempsey.

Monday, 28 April 2008

Spaghettification

part three. all the parts can be found here.

____________________________________
Ready or not, here I go.

I had said my goodbyes, to as many people as I could manage. None of them believed me, and when I used the Sight on them, I discovered that they just thought I was drunk, and with good reason. As soon as I got back from yesterday's encounter, the dorm master had told me that I had finally been accepted in to the job pool, which meant that there was a good chance of me finally earning some money. But by that time I couldn't care less; the rational part of my brain had completely taken over and refused to give it a second thought.

It wasn’t like I had a choice anyway. I couldn’t simply leave him there; there was nowhere else I could leave to. So I woke up at three, after having nightmare after nightmare of me walking around as a zombie, of me being fried alive on the surface of Betelgeuse, of various other things that I couldn’t recall, but only knew were horrifying, and I did something I hadn’t thought was possible.

I talked to the world.

___________________________________________________

Drat had gone to sleep at sundown. He knew it would be his first good night of sleep since he arrived on this Terra. He was even looking forward to it, a little. He had found an abandoned apartment close to the edge of the city, and within the first week had managed to steal more than a few necessities and comforts. The mattress he was sleeping on had only a few tears, and those had been easy enough to repair. He hadn’t done a very good job, but he’d never expected to stay more than a month.

So after more than eight solid hours of sleep, something woke him up. Someone was using the Sight, but it was the strangest application of it he’d ever experienced. Every time a new Terra joined the Senate, they always came up with interesting variations of its use, but this was inexplicable.

This had to be the boy. But what in dreams could he be doing?

He thought about the problem. When faced with an unknown, describe it in terms of the known.

The boy was using the Sight, but not any one person. Or even on a specific number of people. He was sensing the thoughts of the entire planet. Surely that wasn’t possible. To use the Sight you had to have some experience of the target; an image, a voice-rec, or the scent of his body at the very least. But the boy couldn’t have experiences of every person he was Seeing-

That was it. He couldn’t have been talking to the whole world, but he was Seeing everyone he possibly could. Every one he had more than the slightest bit in common with. And that number was large enough to make the boy think he was talking to the whole world, and he was broadcasting that thought to everyone he was Seeing.

Everyone he had anything in common with. But that included everyone awake at this time of night, which included-

Drat.

The boy had managed to use the Sight on him, and Drat hadn’t even noticed.

There was only one place where he could have learnt this kind of technique. The first time they met, Drat had specifically used the Sight on the boy, to find out everything he possibly could. The boy was just using that same ability, but on a much larger scale.

There was nothing to be done about it. The boy hadn’t awakened the ability in any one else, if he had, they would have died from so much exposure, especially since they had no idea what was going on. And if someone he was Seeing that intimately had died, so would he. So he would eventually give up to fatigue, go back to sleep, and eventually, in the morning, he would arrive.

But how in Hell could he have done something on that scale without ripping the universe apart? On any other Terra, he’d be a berserker, and he would have created so many Storms that the whole universe itself would be reduced to tatters.

And what could he do with the boy, now that he knew this?

_________________________________________________

The next morning, I awoke feeling better than I had in years. I felt I knew my place in the world, and I had come to terms with the fact that I’d probably never see it again. I’d grown up, in more than a few ways, I thought.

At least I was leaving the hellhole I called home.

So at ten in the morning, not caring whether any saw me leave, I walked out of my dorm, knowing full well that on any other day, I would have gotten up at the crack of dawn to try and get ready the fastest and not have to get lectured by the dorm-master, which invariably made us even later.

I took the subway to Blue Hollow, which was supposedly named after a famous pub that used to exist there, and then used the last of my money to take the bus that would get me to his hidey-hole.

He was waiting for me just outside the building he inhabited. He never actually lived there, that meant the apartment was his home, which it very obviously wasn’t. So I had named it his inhabitation.

He looked at me, and for the first time since I had known him, he grinned at me.

‘So, boy, shall we leave?’

It was a relatively simple process. He gave me almost no time to answer, or react in any way. He just grabbed my shoulder, held his beeping thing in his other hand, and spoke some words that I almost recognised. And a blackness later, the time of which I couldn’t gauge, we were in ….. space.

It was a truly awesome experience, in every sense of the word. There we were, a billion light years, or so it seemed, from anything, and we were surrounded by millions upon millions of stars, of galaxies.

He had done his bit. It was time for me to do mine.

________________________________________

They had done it. There they were, in the middle of nowhere, and all the boy needed to do was Call the Storm. The boy wasted one of his precious moments in staring in wonder, but Drat knew that couldn’t be avoided. If he was going to be exposed to the universe itself, then he might as well learn to enjoy it. Then the boy’s brow wrinkled in effort, and not more than three seconds later, a Storm was flying towards them. Though ‘gliding’ was probably the more accurate term.

There it was. A Storm. His road to freedom. And he knew everything about it. He had had more than enough time to study it. He knew its spin, its direction, its angle to reality, in short, he knew everything. He could go anywhere.

Anywhere.

Every single Terra in existence was open to him now. If he could think of it, he could get to it.

Anywhere.

He was vaguely aware of the boy’s mind screaming in terror, shouting something into the ether. At that point, Drat couldn’t care less.

________________________________________

I Called the Storm for him. And then I realised what a monumentally stupid thing I’d done. I had used the Sight to summon a Black Hole.

Then the Storm, or Hole, or whatever you wanted to call it, had us in its grasp, and he was just struck dumb. He was just paralysed. So I changed our positions relative to reality, and suddenly, we were in the middle, and then, we were somewhere else.
________________________________________

Hell’s bells.

He had frozen, like some rookie out on his first mission, and even worse, the boy threw both of them into the Storm without so much as a ‘Where are we going?’.

By Valhalla and Odin, he was in a load of horse manure, and he’d-

Why was he thinking like some hero?

Where had the boy taken them?
_______________________________________

its not too bad, but i have to start shortening the lengths of the bits. I was listening to the star wars theme as i wrote this, just for that extra boost. hopefully it worked

Friday, 25 April 2008

The trick
To life
Is not
To get too attached to it

nice lyric!

Sunday, 20 April 2008

yesterday i was at a party, and i had a laptop and was watching some kids play some tank-killing game on the wii. after hearing thee first three or four hilarious comments, i promptly opened up my blog and rtanscribed almost everything they said.
these kids cant be more than seven or eight.

head start
does that mean - is this your homework?


you actually planted a bomb you homicidal freak ahaan


HOMICIDAL FREAK!!!!! <------ this was repeated every fifteen seconds or so


lets do this again


and that'll 'splode that and then we'll win


press b-B!


do millions of bombs


i didnt die dintcha know


you can only do two bombs


oh jesus


who's winning?


how did you go past one of them?


how did you get in to his thing?


too bad, im dead


thats eeeaaasssyy


i killed all four


who died?


ill be homicidal, here!


you suicidal (unintelligible screams)


at this point im so bored i start playing
soumithris crap
so, who gives
me: so who gives what?
who gives a crap?


soumithri youll die
(i promptly die)

are you crazy or what?


if you dare be suicidal, ill kill you


DON PUT THAT ON!!!!!


oh youve got to die you killed yourself youre going to die


i killed two and im still alive!


could you believe i survived speeding bullets!


who wants to play hide and seek after this?
i do

now its my tuuuuuurn!


i can spell PEANUTS!
(unfortunately, to my suggestible mind this was heard differently)

its jericho wise in the house!!! <------ still trying to figure out exactly what this means


you actually killed me when the bomb blew

noone's better than me in this room


are you dead?



I saw that one!

why did you kill me?
I diden!


hubbabubbalubbayou diden eat my lubba <-------- this doesn't do justice to the original

what aaarreee you?
COWS!

who cares?


AAAUUUUGGHHHH! FRANKENSTEIN!!!
do you even know who frankenstein is?

Friday, 18 April 2008

Murphy’s Law: If anything can go wrong, it will.

This, like ‘Cheese goes with everything’, is a fundamental law of the universe.

First Corollary: This usually occurs at the worst possible moment.
Second Corollary: If it has not gone wrong, it is only because it has a greater capacity to do so at a later date.

Sooner or later, everything goes wrong. It's a question of when, not if. There are a billion examples of this.
We've broken our environment; it'll be decades before we can fix it.
We're running out of oil, in a few years time the only way I'll be able to get back home is if I take a sailing ship across the Channel and then hike across three thousand miles.
After the last five years of economic growth, the whole world is looking at a recession the likes of which we haven't seen since 1930.
George Bush was elected President, twice.
The list never stops (No, I lie. The list does stop. The last thing is that I nearly killed myself the other day. I was wearing my tie and I forgot to stop pulling).

This is an extremely pessimistic view of life. If everything goes wrong, what's the point? The point is that while it is true that somewhere something will break, we shouldn't lose hope. Life would be painfully boring if all of us just sat around and did nothing. But since only some of us are lazy, we say everybody's different and move on. Another basic truth of the universe is that Boredom is the single most painful punishment that has been handed to us. If we have committed serious crimes in our past, then all the time we are made to spend staring into space is God's revenge.

On the other hand, it also questions the usefulness of some of the things we do. It could be argued that if something is going to get over eventually, you'd better start looking for alternatives fast, and once you've found those alternatives, switch to them. Unfortunately, solar panels are prohibitively costly, you need about ten windmills to boil a kettle, and either way, when they break, you'll need a whole new kind of engineer to come and fix them up, and Lord knows how much those'll cost.

This is why we have holidays. The sheer stress of having to fix things all the time is what made God rest on the seventh day.
That is the most obvious proof for Murphy’s Law. The existence of the human race. Just imagine. God’s plan didn’t go wrong, Eve and Adam didn’t eat the Fruit (of the Tree of the Knowledge of- oh, you get the point), and we’d never be here, and no one would be inventing more and more things that go wrong all the time.

Right now, the biggest thing that can go wrong is the American election. Since the war in Afghanistan is already dead, and the war in Iraq is failing, the only place America can go is up. But something can still go wrong. The next American president could be John McCain, who will continue the war in Iraq, ignore the crisis in Afghanistan and generally continue the miserable state of affairs.

History is being made today, more so than in the last ten years. In fifty years, they will look back at this decade and say ‘This is why Bush invaded Iraq.’ They will look back on the 2008 Beijing Olympics, and they will be able to analyse the situation in Tibet in relation to it, and it will probably be studied by Modern History graduates.
It’s certainly a very interesting situation. Or it would be if we weren’t living through it. It’s much less dangerous than, say, living through the Second World War. It’s better than having to survive the Great Depression. Living through most things doesn’t really make one an expert on the event, especially if you’re only sixteen. But the election, the Olympics, and the activation of the LHC (the large hadron collider at CERN) all later this year will make this year, if not this decade, a momentous one. Maybe, in the years to come, physicists will say ‘This is exactly why the LHC was always doomed to failure.’

As a final proof of Murphy’s Law, I leave you with this. The original article meant to be in this space went totally wrong.
I sincerely thank the editor for not allowing the original to be shown to the public. And since Murphy’s Law predicts that someone will find it and laugh at it anyway, this is just a minor delaying tactic.

Monday, 31 March 2008

Before,

And
After





<------------ some evil demon has stolen my face and replaced with his own design. that is not me.
if someone can find the original, please let me know. i will be forever grateful. thanking you in advance,
s

Sunday, 30 March 2008

there is a difference between the dishonest bribe and the honest bribe
the dishonest bribe is the same in every country, but the honest bribe is India's alone.

ark.
this homesickness business is really getting to me.

Thursday, 27 March 2008

Escape

part two

first part is somewhere beneath this one
im sure youll be able to go find it

___________________________________________________

I could see that he was deep in thought. It had been two weeks since his 'arrival', and he had taught me a lot about the Sight. Not voluntarily, he made that very clear, but only because if he didn't, he'd never be able to get away from here. I had picked up a lot, since it is possible to read someone without Seeing them, and even without it I could tell he was just sitting there, thinking.


My reflexes had grown in a different direction. I could tell when he was actively observing me, since all I had to do was use the Sight on him to find out whether he was using it on me. He had never actually forbidden it, but the times he had caught me using it on him, he did the same thing he did the first time he caught me, he disappeared. He couldn't keep it up for very long, but it irritated me, which I knew was his intention all along. I understood the mechanics of the disappearing now. He was doing the same thing I'd need to do if I was going to call a 'Storm' or whatever for him. He just persuaded everyone around him that they couldn't notice him, and they didn't. He had me practice, but I was pretty bad at it. People still seemed to notice me, they'd look at me and think 'Why in the world is that boy just standing around? Doesn't he have anything better to do?'

As I walked towards him, he said 'Well, boy, everything's ready. This time tomorrow, we'll be catching ourselves a Storm.'
____________________________________________________

It was obvious he wasn't ready for the announcement. His face said it all, really. It went from puzzlement, to disbelief, to shock, and ended up somewhere between relief and fright.

In short sentences, Drat explained it to him, just as he had done to himself.

'My com array can translate matter in space'


The boy gave him a blank look.

'It can ..... what's the word? Teleport! That's it. It can teleport things. And people. Unfortunately, it's capacity is only about fifteen kilograms. That'd be ninety of your kilos, I suppose.'

He knew he'd encounter that problem , that the names were the same but the magnitudes different. He'd spent three days just fiddling around with the array until it showed him how much something weighed, and then he had to weigh it on this Terra again, but he thought the ratio was about right.

'So I've transferred the decay battery from the laser bolter I showed you into the com array, and I've also written in a series of commands that will make sure we take some oxygen with us. Thats raised its capacity to about ..... lets see, a kilo is roughly six times bigger, so forty becomes...... two hundred and forty kilograms. It'll only keep our temperature and relative atomspheric pressure static for about three seconds or so, and then we'll be deep-fried, frozen solid, or burnt alive, depending how close we are to the nearest star and how much radiation there is.'

Actually, they'd last slightly more than that, about seven or eight seconds, but it was never a bad idea to add some extra fear in to the equation. There'd be a slightly bigger chance of them surviving, anyway.

The boy walked away, seemingly dazed, but probably (or hopefully, at any rate), thinking about how he was going to Call the Storm.


He had tried to make this Terra forget the boy, but this universe was too stubborn for that. It was abnormally hard to even disappear, let alone Call a Storm. That was the only reason he'd need the boy. In another situation, he'd just make the boy forget how to See, forget that he'd ever been able to See, and just risk it on his own. He was in serious danger of forming his own sob story now. The tale of how some kid sacrificed his life for the captain Drat, and how he swore he'd never let that happen again. Every time he went anywhere, the first thing he'd See would be 'Foolish bastard', or 'Sad, lame little captain' or something on those lines. There'd always be pity or sympathy, pity for the boy, or sympathy for him.

He shook himself out of his reverie, and made a mental note to think about the solution, not the problem.

Anything was possible when you were near a Storm, he could even rewrite history if he had to. That was probably what he'd need to do, in fact. Make this world forget the boy, and leave the boy only hazy memories of this world. If someone ever found out that he'd left the boy to die, he'd be in deep trouble. That was a fact. Which was why he had to take the boy with him. Maybe if he gave him to the Senate, or some academy that trained in the Sight, they'd consider leaving him alone. That was a thought. No more bloody prancing around on random worlds, for people he didn't even know, let alone like.

He sighed. He had a long day ahead of him tomorrow. Even though concepts like time tended to stop existing around the event horizon of a Storm.

___________________________________________________



We were leaving? Tomorrow? But I couldn't leave yet. That was just stupid. I'd have to say goodbye to my friends. For the first time in my life I cursed myself for actually bothering to get to know people at the orphanage, not to mention school. I'd give almost anything not to have to say goodbye to so many people. I almost started mentally packing up, when something he said struck me. There'd be space only for two hundred and forty kilos. I didn't even want to go into the illogicality of teleportation right now. Two forty kilograms minus our combined mass would give us enough air for three seconds. After that, we'd die. As in 'stop existing'. Just disappear, first off the face of the planet, and soon after that, the face of the universe. What'd be my eulogy? Died in space, trying to save a man who just appeared out of thin air by trying to Call a Storm? What in the world was a Storm? What if they didn't even exist? And how was I going to Call one? His invisibility was the only proof I had of his theory working, and he could just be using some other alien technology for that.

'Boy, do you seriously think that I would let you die? No, don't answer that,' he said. He had used the Sight on me. That seemed to set off the volcano that was just waiting for the right moment to erupt.


'Ok, fine, let's look at my options. a) I can stay on good old planet Earth, use the Sight to get rich, generally not die. Or I can trade this to look behind the second door, where I risk everything for an uncertain death thousands of miles away, for the positively minute chance that I can get to some alternate reality that, for all I know, might not even exist. Tough choice, I think not.'

'And I'm getting tired you just calling me 'boy'. My name is Michael. You're going to use it.'

Sometimes I wonder why I even open my mouth.

___________________________________________________


For the second time in recent memory, Drat misplaced his temper again. It was almost amazing, how a fifteen-year old could strangle the patience out of someone whose job entailed sitting and waiting for rogue Storms to happen. This time however, he completely lost it. He didn't even remember to start looking until after he had convinced the boy that he wouldn't exist for the next half-hour or so. He'd see how he liked that.


He was surprised, then. He was acting like a teenager. In fact, he was acting exactly like he'd expect the boy to act. This kind of petty vindictiveness was supposed to have disappeared by the time he became a pilot.

He had used the Sight on the boy, and it convinced him of one thing. He'd have to start erasing the boy as soon and as fast as possible. The less people remembered about him, and the easier the exit would be. With that thought in mind, he sat for the next twenty minutes, trying to remove the boy's influence on this Terra, something that got no easier the more he worked at it, and waited for him to realise that he was homo intelligentis and not a bunch of atoms floating around.
__________________________________________

What in the name of Christ did he do to me? One moment I was talking to him, and the next I'm a bunch of nitrogen and oxygen molecules trying my (or our, I'm not really sure) best not to ionise. At first I thought it was one of his mad 'training' things, random events he'd just throw at me to keep me on my toes. But he wouldn't do that without teaching me how to hold it off.
So he had lost his temper with me. Again. We never really talked about the first time. After I had regained consciousness, I had had to catch three buses to set up an extremely thin alibi, since if someone knew I had been in the middle of the city, especially without permission, I'd have been finished. Luckily, after that, I discovered that if I asked the dorm-master at the orphanage about who was patrolling where, I could use the Sight on him and find out, because even though he'd tell me to buzz off, he'd still think about whoever he had sent out to the city, and I could blackmail the ones I knew didn't have permission into covering for me.

And, as always, the mysterious space-pirate from 'somewhere between the popcorn cart and Odysseus' had managed to show me that it wasn't a good idea to shout at him.

'I know you're here.'
He had never actually told me his name, so all I could do was talk to him and hope no one walked by. I didn't want to use the Sight to find him, but I had a pretty good idea of where he was.
'I'm not going anywhere, not for you, and not for anybody. So you can stuff your Storm nonsense and get out of my life.'

Which was when I heard his voice.

'I was hoping it wouldn't come to this, but it always does. Threats seem to be the only way to deal with people. I suppose it's just the defend or die instinct.'
'Let me explain this to you as obviously as I possibly can. You are going to Call me a Storm. It's very simple. All I have to do is to tell you to strongly enough. Sure, you'll be missing for the rest of today, but the plan was to leave tomorrow anyway. No one will notice an extra day.
Yes, once you've finished you will be a zombie for the rest of your life, but I suspect that's a price I'll be willing to pay. I'm sure I'll be able to move on. On the other hand, if you do this willingly, you'll survive. That's the choice. Either you do it and you walk around in a diaper for the rest of your life, or you do it and you walk and talk and generally have a life. Understand, boy? Because if you don't, all I have to do is make you.'

Suddenly I had the scariest moment of my life again. The number of records that were being broken in my life was just not fair, in my opinion, which didn't seem to matter very much these days anyway. I almost launched myself at him when the more rational part of my mind took control and started walking my feet back, towards the train station, ultimately towards the dorm.

___________________________________________________

There was no way getting around it.

The boy would be traumatised, but he'd get here tomorrow.
He was finally getting off of this planet.
Now to calculate where he was going.
___________________________________________________

that was a lot longer than i wanted it to be (this was supposed to just be the introduction of the second bit, not a part in itself), and I don't think it's very good, but it'll do for now, i suppose

Saturday, 1 March 2008

Aliens

this is the original. numero uno. part ONE

______________________________

Nothing ever went right for him, thought Drat. The one time he had risked riding a Storm on his own, and he didn’t even manage to get within range of his destination. The chances of him being found now were something like 3 in a billion. Stuck, without a chance of rescue, on some senate-forsaken blue planet on the edge of the cosmos, armed with a useless communications array and the vintage laser bolter he had meant to give the Council-Head as a bribe. Oh, he had the Sight, as if that was any help. There was no use in being able to See into someone's mind if they didn't bloody think in Scyrean. English, that was the dominant language here. Of all the Terras to crash land on, he had to get the one where The Island had dominated the globe.


Well, if the Senate wasn't going to send a rescue team for their best Storm pilot, he would have to return on his own, and Ares take any idiot stupid enough to get in his way.
____________________________________________________


The first time I noticed him was at the museum. He was a tall chap, 6 foot or so, and walked as if he could step on a minefield at any moment. I knew that because he seemed to think about every step, weighing up the possibility of his foot being blown to pieces. It was the walk that you had to master if you were going to survive at the hostel. One creak and the game was up, and if you didn’t run for your life you were caught and hung to dry.


I was waiting for Jai to show up, to go see some movie he wanted to watch, when I saw this guy materialize out of nowhere (nowhere in this case being halfway between a statue of some greek god and the popcorn cart). That was odd enough, but then he looked at me, and I don’t mean the sweeping look you do when you’re searching for someone, I mean he really looked at me, and for three seconds, I knew him and he knew me. It was the single scariest moment of my life. To know someone, without any of the social trappings of hi, hello, and how are you today, without ever having met him before is terrifying . And because of that, because of the shock, it took me a few minutes before I realised, I could See.
_______________________________________________


Oh, brilliant. He had managed to awaken the ability in a teenager, in a plane that couldn’t even process thinking in more than four dimensions, and didn’t even speak the language of the Sight. Well, now that he had gained a rudimentary knowledge of this ‘English’, along with a few other things he found interesting, he’d at least be able to find the closest Storm and get to a Senate-planet. But first, he had to get rid of the boy. The details were fading, but he still remembered his name. What was it? Ares blast him, he couldn’t get anywhere without a name. Oh, that was it. Michael. Huh, two millennia since first contact, and they still hadn’t realized that their 'saviour' was a computer program designed to attract more Terras to the Senate. No wonder there were so few blue planets on the charts.


_____________________________________________


I could See.


Every thought that ran through a person's mind was mine to peruse, and their knowledge flowed into my brain without any apparent effort at all. It wasn't as much using my eyes as it was using all of my senses, looking at the way someone walked, hearing the tone, the inflection, the accent of a voice, smelling the sweat on someone's skin, and combining all that information in the most obvious way possible to give me something I felt I should have known anyway.


I knew Jai wasn't going to be here, simply because he had left me waiting for fifteen minutes and still hadn't called to apologise, just as I knew he would call in another five, and say "Sorry, I can't get there, something else has happened". And as I turned around, just to see what that girl in the black coat thought of me, if she had even noticed me at all, he grabbed me.


___________________________________________________________


The boy had the Sight, and he knew it. What he didn't know was that he wasn't immune to it. The moment his back turned, Drat did the most obvious thing in the world. He grabbed the boy, and moved him out of the exhibition area and out into the sun. One of the things he wasn't prepared for, though, was that it was yellow. A blue planet was rare enough, but the odds of one with a yellow sun were astronomical. Yellow suns meant only one thing. There wasn't going to be a single Storm within at least fifteen lightseconds, probably none within fifty. There was only one option left, the one he hadn't wanted to contemplate. He'd have to use the boy to find a Storm. And he had to do it quickly. For all he knew, three seconds on this planet could mean three weeks on a Terra under the influence of the Senate.


He needed to get somewhere safe, and the easiest way to do that would be to identify the highest point within a hundred meters, and get up there, quick.


"Um, do you want the highest building or the highest structure?"


___________________________________________________


And as soon as I said those words I regretted them. Maybe now wasn't a good time to remind him that he wasn't immune to my Sight either. He looked at me with disbelief written all over his face, and just like that, he was invisible. I just couldn't see him unless I stared really hard at the space I hoped he was occupying. I didn't know where he was, let alone discover where he thought he should be.


"Where is the closest point over a hundred metres?". His voice seemed far away, as if he was speaking to me through an old telephone.


"The Price building has fifteen storeys," I said hopefully. "It's about three minutes away, but it'll take you at least ten to get to the top, even in an elevator"


"I don't need moving platforms, boy, I just need a location."


I didn't even know why I trusted this guy, but I told him.


And twenty minutes later, I found myself at the top of Price, and it was only after climbing fifteen storeys that I realised that I could See him again, though I didn't want to try it.


"So, boy, what would I have to do to get on a space shuttle?"


"You want to get on a space shuttle? That's easy enough. All you have to do is walk up to NASA and ask them nicely. Why don't you get yourself your own continent while we're at it?"


"This is no laughing matter, boy. Is there no way to get off this planet?"


"Off this planet? Well you're already off your rocker, so that shouldn't be too hard."

Oops.

______________________________________________

And then, in a few brief seconds, Drat lost his temper. It was some time before he found it. He blinded the boy, and then knocked him unconscious, exactly hard enough that he'd wake up in about twenty minutes with a blinder of a headache.

Drat cursed under his breath. There was no way to get off-planet, and he was stuck with an initiate who was strong enough to read other Seers.


Silently he recounted the ways to get to a Storm.


Ship. No use, unless he managed to steal one and get enough fuel to last him until he reached a Storm.


Mind. Nothing here either, the chances of finding someone both strong and stupid enough to rip reality open right in the middle of civilisation were too slim.


Chaos. Just like the last one, there were no berserkers on this Terra. Madmen, sure. But not a chance of real, frothing-at-the-mouth, eating-the-testicles-of-their-enemies zealots.


He'd have to try one of the more extreme alternatives.


Gods. None on this Terra, as far as he could tell, but you could never be sure.


Music. On some Terras, certain notes could make Storms small enough for just one person to appear. But to find such a combination on this Terra, if it even existed, on short notice, not to mention without any equipment at all, was impossible.


Strange. The hope that this Terra was one of those which supported the stranger models, like his homeworld, Lombaxis, wasn't going to hold. The yellow sun proved that. He wasn't about to get a Storm by throwing an old brown shoe over his back.

And last, Calling. The theory was simple enough. If you were strong enough, you could persuade yourself, and thereby the universe, that you were Seeing a Storm in front of you, and you could Call one, exactly as you imagined it. He had thought about that, often. To be able to ride a perfect Storm, one that he knew everything about was something he'd give a hand and a leg for.


He had the boy. All he had to do was get far enough away, a light year or so, and he'd be able to get to somewhere where he might be recognised.


______________________________________________

ok? not too bad, perhaps? this didn't come out as i wanted it to, but hopefully I will get better

Sunday, 24 February 2008

I FOUND MY CAMERA!
after what seems like an age, i can click bad photos and (waaait fooor iiit) *gasp!* keep them! This is a miracle, by (insert name of favorite god, seeing as how there is no god of photography or a goddess of stuff lost that has been found)



a blur of stuff...... but i was told it was good, so on the blog it goes










this also i was told was good, but i fail to see any merit.








the first was before i lost the camera, the second once i found it. the first isnt actually very good, but bad things, like good things, come in threes (or, in this case, fours)



i fixed the first one, but i dont usually like meddling with the photos. if the original isnt good, then theres no point in fixing it. but this badly needed fixing.



the next one is just landscape, as is the one after that







i have now run out of wind

am now working on a sci fi story.... but work is slow, since i have to think about every description. its like lyra's character in his dark materials trilogy. i used to be able to do this easily, but this way ill learn about it, and itll reward me better

s

Wednesday, 23 January 2008

the simplicity of economics

this curve represents, in its entirety, why i think economics is superior as a subject as opposed to, say, history. they both deal with how humans behave, but there are no generalisations that are blindingly obvious like the one on the left.


it conveys only one thing. that if a man is offered more money, he will work more only uptil a certain point, after which instead of working, he will opt for 'leisure'.
this just makes so much sense, it had to be framed and put up somewhere, and this was it.

this other one is also economics, and slightly less obvious at first glance, but just as intuitive.


sadly, this was the only one i could find, and it's rather bad



x axis is quantity, y axis is price




because people are asking for a lot, at wp (it looks like), employers are only willing to employ A amount of labour, but because price is so high, there are B amount of people waiting to be employed. since there is obviously an excess, B - A number of people are left unemployed
both these diagrams looked blindingly obvious to me, so i just had to stop and say, 'gosh, thats a really good piece of thinking!'

i think that if i can't write good fiction/poetry anymore, i might as well write about economics. if im really bored (read if im seriously struggling for material, which is extremely likely), i might even write about a game.....
or even about gandhi...........
who knows?

Thursday, 10 January 2008

in rushdie's haroun and the seas of stories, a book i like very much, there is a part, in the middle of the book, just after his mother leaves, where haroun's father can't tell stories anymore. he opens his mouth and all that comes out is 'arkk'.

well, i cant process, either...
i just can't write any more.
why the #^$& is this?
i can't even write bad poetry about how i can't write anything.
i need to do some thing before complete creative breakdown.
my fountain of creativity has not only come across a drought, there is no rain water harvesting that is happening. i can attribute this to, say, the fact that im not reading as much, simply because the volume of books in the house has plummeted. i can attribute this to any number of half million excuses, but it won't make it go away.
so im left with one question.

WHY THE HECK CAN'T I PROCESS?

there.
at least some writing has happened.
my blog isn't dead yet.