Nov 17, 2014

The triverse of travesty. 17-Nov-2014

Self destruct. Implode.
With no WiFi
No food even when you implore.

Heat is rare.
Winds naked and free.
Dust in your eyes. Cannot see.

The final wall.
Bare bricked and fragile.
Shall stand testament to mankind's fall.

Deem me not.
To be a pessimist.
I am the moving glacier forewarning.

Time shall fly.
Kids shall flock on.
The space for each limited.

With no means left.
And no way absolutely right.
Survival is a question of class.

Of true strife unknown.
Science led the way to comfort.
Leading to a gratuitous pitfall.

The bowl is gone.
How will you eat?
You never could replicate what you really need.

Sleep my friend as thoughts are unreal.
Till we have these grace years to ponder
While others graciously take me along.
To the great destruction we are building towards.

17 November 2014 - Greed lead me home.

As the world snores
You cannot help
But think of a better way.
Than filling the void
With breath of fire.
Winds of devastating speeds.
And an ocean swelling
So large and wide open.
Nature's gluttony knows
no perceivable bounds.
Natures Generousity begets mans greed.
Greed shall leave you humbled indeed.
For the imbalance shall be set right by the forces you deem to be meek.

Oct 14, 2014

Hum dum di dum - 14th October 2014

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall,
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall;
All the king's horses and all the king's men
Couldn't put Humpty together again.

Cause,
Effect;
Reaction,
Eulogy.

Lionel Messi had the ball,
Pepe tackled him from afar;
Jumped above the pitch so high,
Messi yelped 'Why oh why'.

~

What is written can be deleted;
what is deleted can be rewritten,
but in those moments of flurry,
Always remember: Undo=Ctrl+Z.

~

Grammar vexes me,
Caught unabashedly in its glorification.
I can't but foresee my own fallacy.
Little snippets of torture,
for the game loving.
Unwarranted and unchecked:
Errors by the uncaring.
If man wishes to communicate,
He does so as he pleases;
Be it a classy mistress 
or a skank-y ho.
Ultimately what pleases men,
is the English lady they know.
~

When the sunshine creeps
slyly over my back;
The wind lays siege to my senses.
and grumpily I sigh
"Should have worn a sweater."

~
GBK






Oct 7, 2014

7th October 2014 - Hutton - I and He

I planned on writing often..
I plan on writing often..
I am writing often.

~

Deep within the cobwebs of his mind, there lay a remnant memory of someone writing to him.
'Yellow postcards. Black pen. Cursive writing. Yes, what was it she had asked him to do?'

The elaborate plan to kidnap the last surviving member of the Hutton family had failed, the police were on the lookout for him and there he was, lying down on a sack of produce discarded behind the Supermarket at the intersection of Jeeves and Patrick St.

The large gunshot wound to his calf meant that his walk had gotten him not very far from the Hutton family mansion. He was in pain and the delirium had just started to creep in; every passing moment was of anguish and he daren't scream for help.

The man sighed. Breathing in heavily. Something wasn't right, he had gone wrong somewhere.

He had entered the house slyly; he'd memorized every entrance and exit there was to that goddamned building, but he never expected to get out with a wooden peg promised for the future.

As he lay down, he thought about the beautiful writing on that postcard.

'Find the last Hutton and bring him to me. You shall be rewarded.'

The correspondence was crude and rudimentary but worth the pay - The usual $20,000 for the kidnapping. The gory deeds paid more but he'd had enough.

He lay there, thinking to himself - 'I've known that woman. I've known her all along'; but the silent night gave no hints of assertion. By morning, he had passed. Lying in the pool of his own blood with a smile on his face.

Police were called. Autopsy reports confirmed that Mr Hutton had died due to massive blood loss. The gun was an ancient heirloom of the family: a Remington rifle. In the search for evidence, police found a postcard - written crudely to resemble a lady's handwriting.

The gun had prints of one man. Mr Hutton. The police were on the lookout for a killer. 
Unknown to them, hanging by a thread to the frayed ends of his sanity - Hutton had again beaten them.

They would never find the killer. If they did. They'd probably kill him. 

Good thing I'm dying then.

He smiled as his consciousness faded away into the darkness after a young lady whispered to him 'You're not a monster anymore Hutton.'


-
Gbk.










 




Oct 4, 2014

4th October 2014

Two days after the much celebrated Dry Day in the country. I'm on the brink of falling asleep in my chair as I listen to my laptop hum slowly. Maybe complaining to me, that I've overrun its right to enjoy some moments of quiet and peace.

Not that all that's dry is bad and all that's wet is good. (You dirty mind.)

I have another half an hour to kill before I head back home and collapse on my bed like a pale raggedy doll seeking the confines of the someplace dark and quiet.

I decided to write today. I had a few topics in mind too.


Philosophy isn't exactly my forte but I've been trying to catch some bits of what people did in the past when they didn't have facebook and twitter and the works. (I waste too much time online anyway).
So I stumbled upon historyofphilosophy.net - Give it a lookie. Won't hurt you. They've got good podcasts saved for the curious soul.

Chelsea vs Arsenal this weekend on Sunday. Hoping for a good game from the Gunners. Last match was shit. 6-0. I remember the day when I happily drunk myself to oblivion to forget the scoreline that day. Gibbs sent off for Chambo's mistake and then the bad went to worst without stopping for worse in between.

At Veera's, chugging away on the beer for the amnesia, but courageously sat through that night. What a night. 1000th Match as a Manager and you get handed down at 6-0 defeat. Damn timing. Anyway Arsene; all the best for the match at hand.


" When all you can do is hope, you better hope damn well."  - Football fans
" If you win you win, if you lose; hahahahahahaha ensues" - Football fans post match reactions

Its fragmented; this post much like the thoughts in my head these days. I am living on a day to day basis so I don't end up doing much; than the work I did last day. Sure, the job pays; but is that what mankind has to cope with: To make sense of the number of people in this world and to survive
('Money' - Pink Floyd)

Elsewhere in America people think of Indians living in poverty. Africans living in fear of Ebola. Yet somehow extremism and terrorism is the action item of the day. Sure.. Call it anti-terrorism. But doesn't an eye for an eye make the whole world blind?

Its 615 am. Got 15 minutes on the clock left.

If Kabir wrote Dohas and Eminem raps. Wouldn't it be cool to have songs of mix genres. Rappa-Dohas anyone or maybe a spin off of Rammstein's song ' Du Hast' - Do RAP ?

Check out brainpickings.org. Popova is brilliant!

I'll be signing off now. Hopefully for a nondescript weekend with a nice match on the cards. Socialization is over-rated these days. Everyone wants to know everyone without knowing much about anyone. Adding to the irony is the experimental fact that people seem to forgetting more easily.

Anyway. Logging off now.
Until next time.
Gautam Begamudre Krishnamurthy

(Long name. Tall frame;
yet my jokes are lame) - Do-RAP bitches :D



May 27, 2014

The Leopard, The Sheep and the Costume.

May 23rd 2014

Ram - Despite the harsh cold, Ram had his sights set. He was not going to let sleep make him miss his moment of glory. He'd been chasing the leopard for far too long to give up hope now. The Village Panchayat had dissolved into chaos after Dhyanchand the Sarpanch's mangled body was found.

Always the early riser, Dhyanchand had ventured far too deep into the forest for his walk; far too early. The blood curdling scream for help were only but distant echoes to the villagers as they slowly rubbed the rheum from their eyes, to a morning they least expected.

The reports of a missing Sarpanch took the village by storm as they began a massive manhunt within the village limits.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~May 20th 2014~

Gangaben - She had been silent for 2 days. Confining herself to the silence of the Prayer hall, she had solely immersed herself in praying for the well being of her husband. While the thoughts of people were chaotic and hurried, she comforted her aching heart; knowing that only a dire situation would have asked her husband to stay away for this long.

"Maybe it was an important meeting in the town. He's always so forgetful, Buddhuram."

Ever optimistic.

~May 28th 2014~

Ram steadied his rifle. Aiming at a leopard from barely 100 metres away while being hitched high up a tree branch had never been on his schedule in his lifetime. Atleast not till now, he thought.

The leopard was almost disinterested in his surroundings. Silent but wary of the visitor; the cat stuck to lying prone under the thick shrubbery of the hills.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~




May 23rd 2014

The body was found after 5 days. Barely recognizable. Gashed across the chest with what seemed liked monstrous claws and the face smashed to a pulp. Maggots had descended deep down into the flesh. Flies now buzzed around the stinking flesh of what was previously the whole body of the Sarpanch.

Mohanlal - the shepherd had ventured into the valley and had swooned upon the sight of the mangled dead body. What seemed like an hour later, he fell on the doorsteps of the village head's house.

"Sarpanch saab is no more."

After a hasty inquiry into his seeming supernatural declaration, the message was sent quickly, to get the Police Saaheb immediately.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Work in progress.





Apr 15, 2014

Why reading isn't reading anymore.

4:05 on a chilly Tuesday morning. The chaps next to me have dozed off cozily on their chairs.

What keeps me awake? The simple fact that I managed to bundle enough sleep before the shift started. Well, I don't blame 'em. Not many people can pull off a night shift whilst balancing their daily and family activities.

So, much of my blog has been about pieces that I pen/type down whenever I feel like it. I always assumed that showcasing my works to the larger audience would improve the content I ended up delivering.

Such is not the nature of the human soul in the 21st century. Reading has become a redundant system. 

Why?